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WANDERING HEATH 



I 



WANDERING HEATH 


STORIES, STUDIES, AND 
SKETCHES 


BY 



They call my plant the Wandering Heath ; 
I It wanders only in the West : 

So flower the purple thoughts beneath 
The. sailor's, miner's, mother’s breast. 

O hearts of exile ! — still at home. 

And ever turning while ye roam / 



CHARLES : 

NEW YORK, 1895 




Copyright, 1895, by 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 



Tftow oiRecTomr 

PflINTiNQ AND BOOKBINDING OOMPAMV 
NtW YORK 


The stories in this volume made their first appear- 
mce in England as follows : “ The Roll-Call of the 
Reef” in The^ Idler ; “The Looe Die-Hards” in 
The Illustrated London News, where it was entitled 
“The Power o’ Music”; “Jetsom” and “The 
Bishop of Eucalyptus ” in The Pall Mall Magazine ; 
“ Visitors at the Gunnel Rock ” in The Strand 
Magazine ; “Flowing Source” in The Woman at 
Home ; and the rest, with one exception, in the 
friendly pages of The Speaker, 




CONTENTS 


page' 

Prologue, i 

The Roll-call of the Reef, .... 5 

The Looe Die-hards, 37 

My Grandfather, Hendry Watty, . . 75 

Jetsom, 87 

Wrestlers, g5 

T HE Bishop of Eucalyptus, . .. . . . 105 

WiDDERSHINS, I53 

Visitors at the Gunnel Rock, .... 165 

Letters from Troy — 

I. The First Parish Meeting, . . 187 

11 . The Simple Shepherd, .... 199 

Legends — 

I. The Legend of Sir Dinar, . . 215 

11 . “ Flowing Source,” 225 

Experiments — 

• I. A Young Man’s Diary, .... 253 
II. The Captain from Bath, ... 261 


I 


f 







WANDERING HEATH 


PROLOGUE 


What is the use of it?” the Poet de- 
manded peevishly — it was New Year’s Day 
in the morning. ‘^People don’t read my 
poetry when I have gone to the trouble of 
writing it ! ” 

^^The more shame to them,” said his 
wife. 

But, my dear, you know you never read 
it yourself.” 

‘‘Oh, that is altogether different. Be- 
sides you ar^ improving, are you not?” 
She asked it a trifle anxiously, but the 
question set him off at once. 

“In twenty years’ time ” he began 

eagerly. 

“ — the boy will be at college. ’ ’ She laid 
down her needle and embroidery and, gaz- 


2 


WANDERING HEATH 


ing into the fire, let her hands lie idle in 
her lap. 

“You might think of me.” 

“I thought,” she answered, “you were 
doing that.” 

“Of yourself, then.” 

“ In twenty years’ time ” She broke 

off with the faintest possible sigh. 

The Poet jumped up and went to his 
writing-desk. “That reminds me,” he 
said, and produced a folded scrap of paper. 
“ I wrote it last night. It’s a sort of a little 
New Year’s present — you need not read it, 
you know.” 

“ But I will ” : and she took the paper 
and read — 

UPON NEW YEAR’S EVE 

Now zuinds of winter glue 
Their tears upon the thorn, 

A nd earth has voices few. 

And those forlorn. 

And 'tis our solemn night 

When maidens sand the porch. 

And play at Jack' s Alight 
With burning torch. 

Or cards, or Kiss V the Ring — 

While ashen faggots blaze. 


PROLOGUE 


3 


late wassailers sing 
In miry ways. 

Then^ dear my wife, be blithe 
To bid the New Year hail 
And welcome — -plough, drill, scythe. 
And jolly flail. 

For' thotigh the snozvs he'll shake 
Of winter from his head. 

To settle, flake by fllake. 

On ours instead ; 

Yet we be zvreathld green 
Beyond his blight or chill. 

Who kissed at seventeen 
And worship still. 

We know not what he'll bring : 

But this we know to-night — 

He doth prepare the Spring 
For our delight. 

With birds he'll comfort tis. 

With blossoms, balms, and bees. 
With brooks, and odorous 
Wild breath o' the breeze. 


Come then, 0 festal prime I 
With sxveets thy bosom fill. 
And dance it, dripping thy7ne. 
On Lantick hill. 


WANDERING HEATH 


PVesi wind, aivake ! and comb 
Our garden, blade from blade—' 
We, in our little home. 

Sit unafraid. 


— << Why, I quite like it ! ” said she, 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE 
- REEF 


Yes, sir,” said my host the quarry man, 
reaching down the relics from their hook in 
the wall over the chimney-piece ; they’ve 
hung there all my time, and most of my 
father’s. The women won’t touch ’em; 
they’re afraid of the story. So here they’ll 
dangle, and gather dust and smoke, till 
another tenant comes and tosses ’em out 
o’ doors for rubbish. Whew ! ’tis coarse 
weather. ’ ’ 

He went to the door, opened it, and stood 
studying the gale that beat upon his cottage- 
front, straight from the Manacle Reef. The 
rain drove past him into the kitchen aslant 
like threads of gold silk in the shine of the 
wreck wood fire. Meanwhile by the same 
firelight I examined the relics on my knee. 
The metal of each was tarnished out of 
knowledge. But the trumpet was evidently 
an old cavalry trumpet, and the threads of 


6 


WANDERING HEATH 


its parti -colored sling, though frayed and 
dusty, still hung together. Around the 
side-drum, beneath its cracked brown var- 
nish, I could hardly trace a royal coat-of-arms 
and a legend running. Per Mare per Tert'am 
— the motto of the Marines. Its parchment, 
though coloured and scented with wood- 
smoke, was limp and mildewed ; and I be- 
gan to tighten up the straps — under which 
the drum -sticks had been loosely thrust — 
with the idle purpose of trying if some music 
might be got out of the old drum yet. 

But as I turned it on my knee, I found the 
drum attached to the trumpet-sling by a 
curious barrel-shaped padlock, and paused to 
examine this. The body of the lock was 
composed of half a dozen brass rings, set 
accurately edge to edge; and, rubbing the 
brass with my thumb, I saw that each of the 
six had a series of letters engraved around 
it. 

I knew the trick of it, I thought. Here 
was one of those word padlocks, once so com- 
mon ; only to be opened by getting the rings 
to spell a certain word, which the dealer 
confides to you. 

My host shut and barred the door, and 
came back to the hearth. 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 


7 


“ ’Twas just such a wind — east by south 
— that brought in what you’ve got between 
your hands. Back in the year ’nine it was ; 
my father has told me the tale a score o’ 
times. You’re twisting round the rings, I 
see. But you’ll never guess the word. 
Parson Kendall, he made the word, and 
knocked down a couple o’ ghosts in their 
graves with it ; and when his time came, he 
went to his own grave and took the word 
with him.” 

‘ ‘ Whose ghosts, Matthew ? ’ ’ 

‘‘You want the story, I see, sir. My 
father could tell it better than I can. He 
was a young man in the year ’nine, unmar- 
ried at the time, and living in this very cot- 
tage just as I be. That’s how he came to 
get mixed up with the tale.” 

He took a chair, lit a short pipe, and un- 
folded the story in a low musing voice, with 
his eyes fixed on the dancing violet flames. 

“ Yes, he’d ha’ been about thirty year old 
in January of the year ’nine. The storm 
got up in the night o’ the twenty-first o’ that 
month. My father was dressed and out long 
before daylight ; he never was one to ’bide 
in bed, let be that the gale by this time was 
pretty near lifting the thatch over his head. 


8 


WANDERING HEATH 


Besides which, he’d fenced a small ’taty- 
patch that winter, down by Lowland Point, 
and he wanted to see if it stood the night’s 
work. He took the path across Gunner’s 
Meadow — where they buried most of the 
bodies afterward. The wind was right in 
his teeth at the time, and once on the way 
(he’s told me this often) a great strip of ore- 
weed came flying through the darkness and 
fetched him a slap on the cheek like a cold 
hand. But he made shift pretty well till he 
got to Lowland, and then had to drop upon 
his hands and knees and crawl, digging his 
fingers every now and then into the shingle 
to hold on, for he declared to me that the 
stones, some of them as big as a man’s head, 
kept rolling and driving past till it seemed 
the whole foreshore was moving westward 
under him. The fence was gone, of course ; 
not a stick left to show where it stood ; so 
that, when first he came to the place, he 
thought he must have missed his bearings. 
My father, sir, was a very religious man ; 
and if he reckoned the end of the world was 
at hand — there in the great wind and night, 
among the moving stones — you may believe 
he was certain of it when he heard a gun 
fired, and, with the same, saw a flame shoot 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 


9 


up out of the darkness to windward, mak- 
ing a sudden fierce light in all the place 
about. All he could find to think or say 
was, ‘ The Second Coming — The Second 
Coming ! The Bridegroom cometh, and 
the wicked He will toss like a ball into a 
large country ! ’ and being already upon his 
knees, he just bowed his head and ’bided, 
saying this over and over. 

“But by’m-by, between two squalls, he 
made bold to lift his head and look, and 
then by the light — a bluish color ’twas — he 
saw all the coast clear away to Manacle 
Point, and off the Manacles, in the thick of 
the weather, a sloop-of-war with top-gallants 
housed, driving stern foremost toward the 
reef. It was she, of course, that was burning 
the flare. My father could see the white 
streak and the ports of her quite plain as she 
rose to it, a little outside the breakers, and 
he guessed easy enough that her captain had 
just managed to wear ship, and was trying 
to force her nose to the sea with the help 
of her small bower anchor and the scrap or 
two of canvas that hadn’t yet been blown 
out of her. But while he looked, she fell off, 
giving her broadside to it foot by foot, and 
drifting back on the breakers around Carn 


lO 


WANDERING HEATH 


du and the Varses. The rocks lie so thick 
thereabouts, that ’twas a toss up which she 
struck first ; at any rate, my father couldn’t 
tell at the time, for just then the flare died 
down and went out. 

“Well, sir, he turned then in the dark and 
started back for Coverack to cry the dismal 
tidings — though well knowing ship and crew 
to be past any hope ; and as he turned, the 
wind lifted him and tossed him forward 
‘ like a ball,’ as he’d been saying, and home- 
ward along the foreshore. As you know, 
’tis ugly work, even by daylight, picking 
your way among the stones there, and my 
father was prettily knocked about at first in 
the dark. But by this ’’twas nearer seven 
than six o’clock, and the day spreading. By 
the time he reached North Corner, a man 
could see to read print ; hows’ever he looked 
neither out to sea nor toward Coverack, 
but headed straight for the first cottage — the 
same that stands above North Corner to- 
day. A man named Billy Ede lived there 
then, and when my father burst into the 
kitchen bawling, ^ Wreck ! wreck ! ’ he saw 
Billy Ede’s wife, Ann, standing there in her 
clogs, with a shawl over her head, and her 
clothes wringing wet. 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF ii 

“ ‘ Save the chap ! ’ says Billy Ede’s wife, 
Ann. ‘ What d’ 'ee mean by crying stale 
fish at that rate ? ’ 

“‘But ’tis a wreck, I tell ’ee. I’ve a- 
zeed’n ! ’ 

“‘Why, so ’tis,’ says she, ‘and I’ve a- 
zeed’n, too ; and so has everyone with an 
eye in his head.’ ” 

“ And with that she pointed straight over 
my father’s shoulder, and he turned : and 
there, close under Dolor Point, at the end 
of Coverack town, he saw another wreck 
washing, and the Point black with people, 
like emmets, running to and fro in the 
morning light. While we stood staring at 
her, he heard a trumpet sounded on board, 
the notes coming in little jerks, like a bird 
rising against the wind ; but faintly, of 
course, because of the distance and the gale 
blowing — though this had dropped a little. 

“ ‘ She’s a transport,’ said Billy Ede’s 
wife, Ann, ‘ and full of horse soldiers, fine 
long men. When she struck they must ha’ 
pitched the bosses over first to lighten the 
ship, for a score of dead bosses had washed in 
afore I left, half an hour back. An’ three or 
four soldiers, too — fine long corpses in white 
breeches and jackets of blue and gold. I 


12 


WANDERING HEATH 


held the lantern to one. Such a straight 
young man. ’ 

My father asked her about the trumpet- 
ing. 

‘‘^That’s the' queerest bit of all. She 
was burnin’ a light when me an’ my man 
joined the crowd down there. All her 
masts had gone ; whether they were carried 
away, or were cut away to ease her, I don’t 
rightly know. Anyway, there she lay ’pon 
the rocks with her decks bare. Her keel- 
son was broke under her and her bottom 
sagged and stove, and she had just settled 
down like a sitting hen-^just the leastest list 
to starboard ; but a man could stand there 
easy. They had rigged up ropes across her, 
from bulwark to bulwark, an’ beside these 
the men were mustered, holding on like 
grim death whenever the sea made a clean 
breach over them, an’ standing up like heroes 
as soon as it passed. The captain an’ the 
officers were clinging to the rail of the quar- 
ter-deck, all in their golden uniforms, wait- 
ing for the end as if ’twas King .George 
they expected. There was no way to help, 
for she lay right beyond cast of line, though 
our folk tried it fifty times. And beside 
them clung a trumpeter, a whacking big 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 


13 


man, an’ between the heavy seas he would 
lift his trumpet with one hand, and blow a 
call ; and every time he blew the men gave 
a cheer. There (she says) — hark ’ee now — 
there he goes agen ! But you won’t hear 
no cheering any more, for few are left to 
cheer, and their voices weak. Bitter cold 
the wind is, and I reckon it numbs their 
grip o’ the ropes, for they were dropping off 
fast with every sea when my man sent me 
home to get his breakfast. Another wreck, 
you say? Well, there’s no hope for the 
tender dears, if ’tis the Manacles. You’d 
better run down and help yonder ; though 
’tis little help that any man can give. Not 
one came in alive while I was there. The 
tide’s flowing, an’ she won’t hold together 
another hour, they say. ’ 

“ Well, sure enough, the end was coming 
fast when my father got down to the point. 
Six men had been cast up alive, or just 
breathing — a seaman and five troopers. The 
seaman was the only one that had breath to 
speak; and while they were carrying him 
into the town, the word went round that the 
ship’s name was the Despatch, transport, 
homeward bound from Corunna, with a de- 
tachment of the 7 th Hussars, that had been 


14 


WANDERING HEATH 


fighting out there with Sir John Moore. 
The seas had rolled her farther over by this 
time, and given her decks a pretty sharp 
slope ; but a dozen men still held on, seven 
by the ropes near the ship’s waist, a couple 
near the break of the poop, and three on the 
quarter-deck. Of these three my father made 
out one to be the skipper; close ^ by him 
clung an officer in full regimentals — his 
name, they heard after, was Captain Dun- 
canfield ; and last came the tall trumpeter ; 
and if you’ll believe me, the fellow was mak- 
ing shift there, at the very last, to blow 
^ God save the King.'' What’s more, he got 
to ‘ Send ns victorious ’ before an extra big 
sea came bursting across and washed them 
off the deck — every man but one of the pair 
beneath the poop — and he dropped his hold 
before the next wave; being stunned, I 
reckon. The others went out of sight at 
once, but the trumpeter — being, as I said, a 
powerful man as well as a tough swimmer — 
rose like a duck, rode out a couple of break- 
ers, and came in on the crest of the third. 
The folks looked to see him broke like an 
egg at their feet; but when the smother 
cleared, there he was, lying face downward 
on a ledge below them ; and one of the men 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 15 

that happened to have a rope round him — I 
forget the fellow’s name, if I ever heard it — 
jumped down and grabbed him by the ankle 
as he began to slip back. Before the next 
big sea, the pair were hauled high enough 
to be out of harm, and another heave 
brought them up to grass. Quick work; 
but master trumpeter wasn’t quite dead ; 
nothing worse than a cracked head and three 
staved ribs. In twenty minutes or so they 
had him in bed, with the doctor to tend 
him. 

‘‘ Now was the time — nothing being left 
alive upon the transport — for my father to 
tell of the sloop he’d seen driving upon the 
Manacles. And when he got a hearing, 
though the most were set upon salvage, and 
believed a wreck in the hand, so to say, to 
be worth half a dozen they couldn’t see, a 
good few volunteered to start off with him 
and have a look. They crossed Lowland 
Point ; no ship to be seen on the Manacles, 
nor anywhere upon the sea. One or two 
was for calling my father a liar. ^ Wait 
till we come to Dean Point,’ said he. Sure 
enough, on the far side of Dean Point, they 
found the sloop’s mainmast washing about 
with half a dozen men lashed to it — men in 


i6 


WANDERING HEATH 


red jackets — every mother’s son drowned 
and staring ; and a little farther on, just un- 
der the Dean, three or four bodies cast up 
on the shore, one of them a small drummer- 
boy, side-drum and all ; and, near by, part 
of a ship’s gig, with ‘H.M.S. 'Primrose’ 
cut on the stern-board. From this point 
on, the shore was littered thick with wreck- 
age and dead bodies — the most of them ma- 
rines in uniform ; and in Godrevy Cove in 
particular, a heap of furniture from the cap- 
tain’s cabin, and among it a water-tight 
box, not much damaged, and full of papers, 
by which, when it came to be examined 
next day, the wreck was easily made out to 
be the Primrose of eighteen guns, outward 
bound from Portsmouth, with a fleet of 
transports for the Spanish War, thirty sail, 
I’ve heard, but I’ve never heard what be- 
came of them. Being handled by mer- 
chant skippers, no doubt they rode out the 
gale and reached the Tagus safe and sound. 
Not but what the captain of the Primrose 
(Mein was his name) did quite right to try 
and club-haul his vessel when he found him- 
self under the land ; only he never ought to 
have got there if he took proper soundings. 
But it’s easy talking. 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 17 


The Primrose, sir, was a handsome ves- 
sel — for her size, one of the handsomest in 
the King’s service — and newly fitted out at 
Plymouth Dock. So the boys had brave 
pickings from her in the way of brass-work, 
ship’s instruments, and the like, let alone 
some barrels of stores not much spoiled. 
They loaded themselves with as much as 
they could carry, and started for home, 
meaning to make a second journey before 
the preventive men got wind of their doings 
and came to spoil the fun. But as my fath- 
er was passing back under the Dean, he hap- 
pened to take a look over his shoulder at 
the bodies there. ‘ Hullo,’ says he, and 
dropped his gear, ‘ I do believe there’s a leg 
moving ! ’ And, running fore, he stooped 
over the small drummer-boy that I told you 
about. The poor little chap was lying there, 
with his face a mass of bruises and his eyes 
closed : but he had shifted one leg an inch 
or two, and was still breathing. So my 
father pulled out a knife and cut him free 
from his drum — that was lashed on to him 
with a double turn of Manilla rope — and 
took him up and carried him along here, to 
this very room that we’re sitting in. He 
lost a good deal by this, for when he went 


i8 


WANDERING HEATH 


back to fetch his bundle the preventive men 
had got hold of it, and were thick as thieves 
along the foreshore ; so that ’twas only by 
paying one or two to look the other way 
that he picked up anything worth carrying 
off : which you’ll allow to be hard, seeing 
that he was the first man to give news of the 
wreck. 

Well, the inquiry was held, of course, 
and my father gaVe evidence, and for the 
rest they had to trust to the sloop’s papers, 
for not a soul was saved besides the drummer- 
boy, and he was raving in a fever, brought 
on by the cold and the fright. And the 
seamen and the five troopers gave evidence 
about the loss of the Despatch. The tall 
trumpeter, too, whose ribs were healing, 
came forward and kissed the book ; but 
somehow his head had been hurt in coming 
ashore, and he talked foolish-like, and ’twas 
easy seen he would never be a proper man 
again. The others were taken up to Ply- 
mouth, and so went their ways ; but the 
trumpeter stayed on in Coverick; and King 
George, finding he was fit for nothing, sent 
him down a trifle of a pension after a while 
— enough to keep him in board and lodging, 
with a bit of tobacco over. 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 19 


‘‘ Now the first time that this man — Will- 
iam Tallifer, he called himself — met with 
the drnmmer-boy, was about a fortnight after 
the little chap had bettered enough to be 
allowed a short walk out of doors, which he 
took, if you please, in full regimentals. 
There never was a soldier so proud of his 
dress. His own suit had shrunk a brave 
bit with the salt water ; but into ordinary 
frock an’ corduroys he declared he would not 
get — not if he had to go naked the rest of 
his life; so my father, being a good-natured 
man and handy with the needle, turned to 
and repaired damages with a piece or two of 
scarlet cloth cut from the jacket of one of 
the drowned Marines. Well, the poor little 
chap chanced to be standing, in this rig-out, 
down by the gate of Gunner’s Meadow, 
where they had buried twoscore and over of 
his comrades. The morning was a fine one, 
early in March month ; and along came 
the cracked trumpeter, likewise taking a 
stroll. 

“ ‘ Hullo ! ’ says he ; ‘ good - mornin’ ! 

And what might you be doin’ here ? ’ 

“ ‘ I was a-wishin’,’ says the boy, ' I had 
a pair o’ drumsticks. Oiir lads were buried 
yonder without so much as a drum tapped or 


20 


WANDERING HEATH 


a musket fired ; and that’s not Christian 
burial for British soldiers.’ 

‘ Phut ! ’ says the trumpeter, and spat 
on the ground ; ‘ a parcel of Marines ! ’ 

“ The boy eyed him a second or so, and 
answered up : ‘ If I’d a tab of turf handy. 
I’d bung it at your mouth, you greasy cav- 
alryman, and learn you to speak respectful 
of your betters. The Marines are the hand- 
iest body of men in the service.’ 

The trumpeter looked down on him 
from the height of six foot two, and asked : 

^ Did they die well.’ 

“ * They died very well. There was a lot 
of running to and fro at first, and some of 
the men began to cry, and a few to strip off 
their clothes. But when the ship fell off for 
the last time, Captain Mein turned and 
said something to Major Griffiths, the com- 
manding officer on board, and the Major 
called out to me to beat to quarters. It 
might have been for a wedding, he sang it 
out so cheerful. We’d had word already 
that ’twas to be parade order, and the men 
fell in as trim and decent as if they were 
going to church. One or two even tried to 
shave at the last moment. The Major wore 
his medals. One of the seamen, seeing that 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 21 


I had hard work to keep the drum steady — 
the sling being a bit loose for me and the 
wind what you remember — lashed it tight 
with a piece of rope ; and that saved my life 
afterward, a drum being as good as a cork 
until it’s stove. I kept beating away until 
every man was on deck ; and then the Major 
formed them up and told them to die like 
British soldiers, and the chaplain read a 
prayer or two — the boys standin’ all the 
while like rocks, each man’s courage keep- 
ing up the other’s. The chaplain was in the 
middle of a prayer when she struck. In ten 
minutes she was gone. That was how they 
died, cavalryman.’ 

‘ And that was very well done, drummer 
of the Marines. What’s your name ? ’ 

‘ John Christian.’ 

** * Mine’s William George Tallifer, 
trumpeter, of the 7 th Light Dragoons — the 
Queen’s Own. I ptUyed * God Save the 
King ’ while our men were drowning. 
Captain Duncanfield told me to sound a 
call or two, to put them in heart ; but that 
matter of ‘ God Save the King' was a no- 
tion of my own. I won’t say anything to 
hurt the feelings of a Marine, even if he’s not 
much over five foot tall ; but the Queen’s 


22 


WANDERING HEATH 


Own Hussars is a tearin’ fine regiment. As 
between horse and foot ’tis a question o’ 
which gets the chance. All the way from 
Sahao-un to Corunna ’twas we that took and 

o 

gave the knocks — at Mayorga and Rueda 
and Benny venty.’ (The reason, sir, I can 
speak the names so pat is that my father 
learnt ’em by heart afterward from the 
trumpeter, who was always talking about 
Mayorga and Rueda and Benny venty.) ‘ We 
made the rear-guard, under General Paget, 
and drove the French every time ; and all the 
infantry did was to sit about in wine-shops 
till we whipped ’em out, an’ steal an’ straggle 
an’ play the tom-fool in general. And when 
it came to a stand-up fight at Corunna, ’twas 
we that had to stay sea -sick aboard the 
transports, an’ watch the infantry in the 
thick o’ the caper. Very well they behaved, 
too ; ’specially the 4th Regiment, an’ the 
42d Highlanders, an’ the Dirty Half-Hun- 
dred. Oh, ay ; they’re decent regiments, 
all three. But the Queen’s Own Hussars is 
a tearin’ fine regiment. So you played on 
your drum when the ship was goin’ down ? 
Drummer John Christian, I’ll have to get you 
a new pair o’ drum-sticks for that. ’ 

Well, sir, it appears that the very next 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 23 


day the trumpeter marched into Helston, 
and got a carpenter there to turn him a pair 
of box-wood drum-sticks for the boy. And 
this was the beginning of one of the most 
curious friendships you ever heard tell of. 
Nothing delighted the pair more than to 
borrow a boat of my father and pull out to 
the rocks where the Primrose and the De- 
spatch had struck and sunk ; and on still 
days ’twas pretty to hear them out there off 
the Manacles, the drummer playing his tat- 
too — for they always took their music with 
them — and the trumpeter practising calls, 
and making his trumpet speak like an angel. 
But if the weather turned roughish, they’d 
be walking together and talking ; leastwise, 
the youngster listened while the other dis- 
coursed about Sir John’s campaign in Spain 
and Portugal, telling how each little skir- 
mish befell ; and of Sir John himself, and 
General Baird and General Paget, and Col- 
onel Vivian, his own commanding officer, 
and what kind men they were ; and of the 
last bloody stand-up at Corunna, and so forth, 
as if neither could have enough. 

But all this had to come to an end in 
the late summer, for the boy, John Chris- 
tian, being now well and strong again, must 


24 


WANDERING HEATH 


go up to Plymouth to report himself. ’Twas 
his own wish (for I believe King George had 
forgotten all about him), but his friend 
wouldn’t hold him back. As for the trum- 
peter, my father had made an arrangement to 
take him on as a lodger as soon as the boy 
left ; and on the morning fixed for the start 
he was up at the door here by five o’clock, 
with his trumpet slung by his side, and all 
the rest of his belongings in a small valise. 
A Monday morning it was, and after break- 
fast he had fixed to walk with the boy some 
way on the road toward Helston, where the 
coach started. My father left them at break- 
fast together, and went out to meat the pig, 
and do a few odd morning jobs of that sort. 
When he came back, the boy was still at 
table, and the trumpeter standing here by 
the chimney-place with the drum and trum- 
pet in his hands, hitched together just as 
they be at this moment. 

“ ‘ Look at this,’ he says to my father, 
showing him the lock ; ‘ I picked it up off 
a starving brass-worker in Lisbon, and it is 
not one of your common locks that one word 
of six letters will open at any time. There’s 
janius in this lock; for you’ve only to make 
the ring spell any six-letter word you please, 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 25 


and snap down the lock upon that, and 
never a soul can open it — not the maker, 
even — until somebody comes along that 
knows the word you snapped it on. Now, 
Johnny, here’s goin’, and he leaves his drum 
behind him ; for, though he can make pretty 
music on it, the parchment sags in wet 
weather, by reason of the sea-water getting 
at it ; an’ if he carries it to Plymouth, 
they’ll only condemn it and give him an- 
other. And as for me, I shan’t have the 
heart to put lip to the trumpet any more 
when Johnny’s gone. So we’ve chosen a 
word together, and locked ’em together 
upon that ; and, by your leave. I’ll hang 
’em here together on the hook over your 
fireplace. Maybe Johnny’ll come back ; 
maybe not. Maybe, if he comes. I’ll be 
dead an’ gone, an’ he’ll take ’em apart an’ 
try their music for old sake’s sake. But If 
he never comes, nobody can separate ’em ; 
for nobody besides knows the word. And if 
you marry and have sons, you can tell ’em 
that here are tied together the souls of 
Johnny Christian, drummer, of the Marines, 
and William George Tallifer, once trumpeter 
of the Queen’s Own Hussars. Amen.’ 

“ With that he hung the two instruments 


26 


WANDERING HEATH 


’pon the hook there; and the boy stood up 
and thanked my father and shook hands; 
and the pair went forth of the door, toward 
Helston. 

^ ^ Somewhere on the road they took leave 
of one another ; but nobody saw the part- 
ing, nor heard what was said between them. 
About three in the afternoon the trumpeter 
came walking back over the hill-; and by the 
time my father came home from the fishing, 
the cottage was tidied up and the tea ready, 
and the whole place shining like a new pin. 
From that time for five years he lodged here 
with my father, looking after the house and 
tilling the garden ; and all the while he was 
steadily failing, the hurt in his head spread- 
ing, in a manner, to his limbs. My father 
watched the feebleness growing on him, but 
said nothing. And from first to last neither 
spake a word about the drummer, John 
Christian ; nor did any letter reach them, 
nor word of his doings. 

The rest of the tale you’m free to be- 
lieve, sir, or not, as you please. It stands 
upon my father’s words, and he always de- 
clared he was ready to kiss the Book upon it 
before judge and jury. He said, too, that 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 27 


he never had the wit to make up such a 
yarn ; and he defied anyone to explain about 
the lock, in particular, by any other tale. 
But you shall judge for yourself. 

My father said that about three o’clock 
in the morning, April fourteenth of the 
year ’fourteen, he and William Tallifer were 
sitting here, just as you and I, sir, are sit- 
ting now. My father had put on his clothes 
a few minutes before, and was mending his 
spiller by the light of the horn lantern, 
meaning to set off before daylight to haul 
the trammel. The trumpeter hadn’t been 
to bed at all. Toward the last he mostly 
spent his nights (and his days, too) dozing 
in the elbow-chair where you sit at this 
minute. He was dozing then (my father 
said), with his chin dropped forward on his 
chest, when a knock sounded upon the door, 
and the door opened, and in walked an up- 
right young man in scarlet regimentals. 

He had grown a brave bit, and his 
face was the color of wood-ashes ; but it 
was the drummer, John Christian. Only 
his uniform was different from the one he 
used to wear, and the figures ‘38’ shone in 
brass upon his collar. 


28 


WANDERING HEATH 


The drummer walked past my father as 
if he never saw him, and stood by the elbow- 
chair and said : 

‘ Trumpeter, trumpeter, are you one 
with me? ’ 

“ And the trumpeter just lifted the lids of 
his eyes, and answered, ‘ How should I not 
be one with you, drummer Johnny — Johnny 
boy? The men are patient. ’Till you 
come, I count ; you march, I mark time 
until the discharge comes.’ 

“ ‘ The discharge has come to-night,’ said 
the drummer, ‘ and the word is Corunna no 
longer ; ’ and stepping to the chimney -place, 
he unhooked the drum and trumpet, and be- 
gan to twist the brass rings of the lock, 
spelling the word aloud, so — C-O-R-U-N-A. 
When he had fixed the last letter, the pad- 
lock opened in his hand. 

‘‘ ‘ Did you know, trumpeter, that when 
I came to Plymouth they put me into a line 
regiment ? ’ 

‘^‘The 38th is a good regiment,’ an- 
swered the old Hussar, still in his dull voice. 
‘I went back with them from Sahagun to 
Corunna. At Corunna they stood in Gen- 
eral Fraser’s division, on the right. They 
behaved well.’ 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 29 

“ ‘ But I’d fain see the Marines again,’ 
says the drummer, handing him the trumpet 
‘ and you — you shall call once more for the 
Queen’s Own. Matthew,’ he says, suddenly, 
turning on my father — and when he turned, 
my father saw for the first time that his 
scarlet jacket had a round hole by the breast- 
bone, and that the blood was welling there 
— ‘ Mathew, we shall want your boat.’ 

Then my father rose on his legs like a 
man in a dream, while they two slung on, 
the one his drum, and t’other his trumpet. 
He took the lantern, and went quaking be- 
fore them down to the shore, and they 
breathed heavily behind him ; and they 
stepped into his boat, and my father pushed 
off. 

‘ Row you first for Dolor Point,’ says 
the drummer. So my father rowed them 
out past the white houses of Coverack to 
Dolor Point, and there, at a word, lay on 
his oars. And the trumpeter, William Tal- 
lifer, put his trumpet to his mouth and 
sounded the Revelly. The music of it was 
like rivers running. 

‘ They will follow,’ said the drummer. 
^ Matthew, pull you now for the Manacles.’ 
“ bo my father i^ulled for the Manacles, 


30 WANDERING HEATH 

and came to an easy close outside Cam dft. 
And the drummer took his sticks and beat a 
tattoo, there by the edge of the reef ; and 
the music of it was like a rolling chariot. 

‘That will do,’ says he, breaking off ; 

‘ they will follow. Pull now for the shore 
under Gunner’s Meadow.’ 

“ Then my father pulled for the shore, 
and ran his boat in under Gunner’s Meadow. 
And they stepped out, all three, and walked 
up to the meadow. By the gate the drum- 
mer halted and began his tattoo again, look- 
ing out toward the darkness over the sea. 

‘ ‘ And while the drum beat, and my father 
held his breath, there came up out of the 
sea and the darkness a troop of many men, 
horse and foot, and formed up among the 
graves ; and others rose out of the graves 
and formed up — drowned Marines with 
bleached faces, and pale Hussars riding their 
horses, all lean and shadowy. There was 
no clatter of hoofs or accoutrements, my 
father said, but a soft sound all the whilej 
like the beating of a bird’s wing and a black 
shadow lying like a pool about the feet of all. 
The drummer stood upon a little knoll just 
inside the gate, and beside him the tall 
trumpeter, with hand on hip, watching them 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 31 

gather ; and behind them both my father, 
clinging to the gate. When no more came 
the drummer stopped playing, and said, 
^ Call the roll.’ 

‘ ‘ Then the trumpeter stepped toward the 
end man of the rank and called, ‘ Troop- 
Sergeant-Major Thomas Irons, ’ and the man 
in a thin voice answered, ‘ Here ! ’ 

‘‘‘Troop-Sergeant-Major Thomas Irons, 
how is it with you ? ’ 

“ The man answered, ‘ How should it be 
with me? When I was young, I betrayed 
a girl ; and when I was grown, I betrayed 
a friend, and for these things I must pay. 
But I died as a man ought. God save the 
King ! ’ 

“ The trumpeter called to the next man, 
‘ Trooper Henry Buckingham,’ and the 
next man answered, ‘ Here ! ’ 

“ ‘ Trooper Henry Buckingham, how is it 
with you ? ’ 

“ ‘ How should it be with me? I was a 
drunkard, and I stole, and in Lugo, in a 
wine-shop, I knifed a man. But I died as a 
man should. God save the King ! ’ 

“ So the trumpeter went down the line; 
and when he had finished, the drummer 
took it up, hailing the dead Marines in their 


32 


WANDERING HEATH 


order. Each man answered to his name, 
and each man ended with ' God save the 
King ! ’ When all were hailed, the drum- 
mer stepped back to his mound, and called : 

“ ‘ It is well. You are content, and we 
are content to join you. Wait yet a little 
while. ’ 

“ With this he turned and ordered my 
father to pick up the lantern, and lead the 
way back. As my father picked it up, he 
heard the ranks of dead men cheer and call, 
‘ God save the King ! ’ all together, and 
saw them waver and fade back into the dark, 
like a breath fading off a pane. 

But when they came back here to the 
kitchen, and my father set the lantern down, 
it seemed they’d both forgot about him. 
For the drummer turned in the lantern-light 
— and my father could see the blood still 
welling out of the hole in his breast — and 
took the trumpet-sling from around the 
other’s neck, and locked drum and trumpet 
together again, choosing the letters on the 
lock very carefully. While he did this he 
said : 

‘ The \vord is no more Corunna, but 
Bayonne. As you left out an n ” in Co- 
runna, so must I leave out an “n” in 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 33 


Bayonne.’ And before snapping the pad- 
lock, he spelt out the word slowly — ‘ B-A- 
Y-O-N-E.’ After that, he used no more 
speech ; but turned and hung the two in- 
struments back on the hook; and then took 
the trumpeter by the arm; and the pair 
walked out into the darkness, glancing 
neither to right nor left. 

“ My father was on the point of follow- 
ing, when he heard a sort of sigh behind 
him ; and there, sitting in the elbow-chair, 
was the very trumpeter he had just seen walk 
out by the door ! If my father’s heart 
jumped before, you may believe it jumped 
quicker now. But after a bit, he went up 
to the man asleep in the chair, and put 
a hand upon him. It was the trumpeter 
in flesh and blood that he touched; but 
though the flesh was warm, the trumpeter 
was dead. 

Well, sir, they buried him three days 
after ; and at first my father was minded to 
say nothing about his dream (as he thought 
it). But the day after the funeral, he met 
Parson Kendall coming from Helston mar- 
ket : and the parson called out : ‘ Have ’ee 
heard the news the coach brought down this 


34 


WANDERING HEATH 


mornin’ ? ’ ‘ What news ? ’ says my father. 

‘ Why, that peace is agreed upon.’ ‘ None 
too soon,’ says my father. ^ Not soon 
enough for our poor lads at Bayonne,’ the 
parson answered. ‘ Bayonne ! ’ cries my 
father, with a jump. ‘ Why, yes ; ’ and the 
parson told him all about a great sally the 
French had made on the night of April 13th. 

‘ Do you happen to know if the 38th Regi- 
ment was engaged ? ’ my father asked. 
‘Come, now,’ said Parson Kendall, ‘I 
didn’t know you was so well up in the cam- 
paign. But, as it happens, I do know that 
the 38th was engaged, for ’twas they that 
held a cottage and stopped the French ad- 
vance. ’ 

“Still my father held his tongue; and 
when, a week later, he walked into Helston 
and bought a Mercury off the Sherborne 
rider, and got the landlord of the Angel 
to spell out the list of killed and wounded, 
sure enough, there among the killed was 
Drummer John Christian, of the 38th Foot. 

“After this there was nothing for a re- 
ligious man but to make a clean breast. So 
my father went up to Parson Kendall and 
told the whole story. The parson listened, 
and put a question or two, and then asked ; 


THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF 35 


‘ Have you tried to open the lock since 
that night ? ’ 

‘‘ ‘ I han’t dared to touch it,’ says my 
father. 

‘ ^ ^ Then come along and try. ’ When 
the parson came to the cottage here, he 
took the things off the hook and tried the 
lock. ^ Did he say Bayonne?'^ The 
word has seven letters.’ 

“ ‘ Not if you spell it with one n ” as 
he did,’ says my father. 

The parson spelt it out — B-A-Y-O-N-E. 
‘ Whew ! ’ says he, for the lock had fallen 
open in his hand. 

He stood considering it a moment, and 
then he says, ‘ I tell you what. I shouldn’t 
blab this all round the parish, if I was you. 
You won’t get no credit for truth-telling, 
and a miracle’s wasted on a set of fools. 
But if you like, I’ll shut down the lock 
again upon a holy word that no one but me 
shall know, and neither drummer nor trum- 
peter, dead nor alive, shall frighten the 
secret out of me.’ 

‘ I wish to gracious you would, parson,’ 
said my father. 

‘‘The parson chose the holy word there 
and then, and shut the lock back upon it. 


36 WANDERING HEATH 

and hung the drum and trumpet back in 
their place. He is gone long since, taking 
the word with him. And till the lock is 
broken by force, nobody will ever separate 
those twain. 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


Captain Pond, of the East and West 
Looe Volunteer Artillery (familiarly known 
as the Looe Die-hard§ 7 j put his air-cushion 
to his lips and blpw. This gave his face a 
very choleric and martial expression. 

Nevertheless, above his suffused and dis- 
tended cheeks his eyes preserved a pensive mel- 
ancholy as they dwelt upon his Die-hards gath- 
ered in the rain below him on the long -shore, 
or Church-end, wall. At this date (Novem- 
ber 3, 1809) the company numbered seventy, 
besides Captain Pond and his two subalterns ; 
and of this force four were out in the boat 
just now, mooring the practice-mark — a bar- 
rel with a small red flag stuck on top ; one, 
the bugler, had been sent up the hill to the 
nine-pounder battery, to watch and sound a 
call as soon as the target was ready ; a sixth. 
Sergeant Fugler, lay at home in bed, with 
the senior lieutenant (who happened also to 
be the local doctor) in attendance. Captain 


38 


WANDERING HEATH 


Pond clapped a thumb over the orifice of his 
air-cushion, and heaved a sigh as he thought 
of Sergeant Fugler. The remaining sixty- 
four Die-hards, with their firelocks under 
their greatcoats, and their collars turned up 
against the rain, lounged by the embrasures 
of the shore-wall, and gossiped dejectedly, 
or eyed in silence the blurred boat bobbing 
up and down in the gray blur of the sea. 

Such coarse weather I hardly remember 
to have met with for years,” said Uncle 
Israel Spettigew, a cheerful sexagenarian 
who ranked as efficient on the strength of 
his remarkable eyesight, which was keener 
than most boys’. “ The sweep from over 
to Polperro was cleanin’ my chimbley this 
mornin’, and he told me, in his humorous 
way, that with all this rain ’tis so much as 
he can do to keep his face dirty — hee-hee ! ’ ’ 
Nobody smiled. “ If you let yourself 
give way to the enjoyment of little things 
like that,” observed a younger gunner 
gloomily, “one o’ these days you’ll find 
yourself in a better land, like the snuff of a 
candle. ’Tis a year since the Company’s 
been allowed to move in double time, and 
all because you can’t manage a step o’ thirty- 
six inches ’ithout getting the palpitations.” 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


39 


Well-a-well, ’tis but fora brief while 
longer — a few fleeting weeks, an’ us Die- 
hards shall be as though we had never been. 
So why not be cheerful ? For my part, I 
mind back in ’seventy-nine when the fleets 
o’ France an’ Spain assembled an’ come up 
agen us — sixty-six sail o’ the line, my son- 
nies, besides frigates an’ corvettes to the 
amount o’ twenty-five or thirty, all as plain 
as the nose on your face : an’ the alarm 
guns goin’, up to Plymouth, an’ the signals 
hoisted at Maker Tower — a bloody flag at 
the pole an’ two blue ’uns at the outriggers. 
Four days they laid to, an’ I mind the first 
time I seed mun, from this very place as it 
might be where we’m standin’ at this mo- 
ment, I said, ‘ Well, ’tis all over with East 
Looe this time ! ’ I said : ‘ an’ when ’tis 
over, ’tis over, as Joan said by her wed- 
din’.’ An’ then I spoke them verses by 
royal Solomon — Wisdom two, six to nine. 
‘ Let us fill oursel’s wi’ costly wine an’ oint- 
ments,’ I said: ‘an’ let no flower o’ the 
spring pass by us. Let us crown oursel’s 
wi’ rosebuds, afore they be withered : let 
none of us go without his due part of our 

voluptuousness ’ ’ ’ 

“ Why, you old adage, that’s what Solo- 


40 


WANDERING HEATH 


mon makes th’ ungodly say ! ” interrupted 
young gunner Oke, who had recently been 
appointed parish clerk, and happened to 
know. 

“As it happens,” Uncle Issy retorted, 
with sudden dignity — “ as it happens, I was 
ungodly in them days. The time I’m talk- 
in’ about was August, ’seventy-nine; an’ if 
I don’t mistake, your father an’ mother, 
John Oke, were courtin’ just then, an’ 
’most too shy to confide in each other about 
havin’ a parish clerk for a son.” 

“Times hev’ marvellously altered in the 
meanwhile, to be sure,” put in Sergeant 
Pengelly, of the Sloop Inn. 

“ Well, then,” Uncle Issy continued, 
without pressing his triumph, “ ^ ’Tis all 
over with East Looe,’ I said, ^ an’ this is a 
black day for King Gearge,’ an’ then I 
spoke them verses o’ Solomon : ‘ Let none 
of us,’ I said, ‘go without his due part of 
our voluptuousness ; ’ and with that I went 
home and dined on tatties an’ bacon. It 
hardly seems a thing to be believed at this 
distance o’ time, but I never relished tatties 
an’ bacon better in my life than that day — 
an’ yet not meanin’ the laste disrespect to 
King Gearge. Disrespect? If his Majesty 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


41 


only knew it, he’ve no better friend in the 
world than Israel Spettigew. God save the 
King! ” 

And with this Uncle Issy pulled off his 
cap and waved it round his head, thereby 
shedding a moulinei of raindrops full in the 
faces of his comrades around. 

This was observed by Captain Pond, 
standing on the platform above, beside 
Thundering Meg, the big 24-pounder, which 
with four 1 8-pounders on the shore-wall 
formed the lower defences of the haven. 

“ Mr. Clogg,” he called to his junior 
lieutenant, “ tell Gunner Spettigew to put 
on his hat at once. Ask him what he means 
by taking his death and disgracing the Com- 
pany.” 

The junior lieutenant — a small farmer 
from Talland parish — touched his cap, spread 
his hand suddenly over his face and sneezed. 

Hullo ! You’ve got a cold.” 

‘‘ No, sir. I often sneezes like that, and 
no reason for it whatever.” 

“I’ve never noticed it before.” 

“ No, sir. I keeps it under so well as I 
can. A great deal can be done sometimes 
by pressing your thumb on the upper lip.” 

“Ah, well! So long as it’s not a cold — ” 


42 


WANDERING HEATH 


returned the Captain, and broke off to ar- 
range his air - cushion over the depressed 
muzzle of Thundering Meg. Hereupon he 
took his seat, spread the lappels of his great- 
coat over his knees, and gave way to gloomy 
reflection. 

Sergeant Fugler was at the bottom of it. 
Sergeant Fugler, the best marksman in the 
Company, was a hard drinker, with a hob- 
nailed liver. He lay now in bed with that 
hobnailed liver, and the Doctor said it was 
only a question of days. But why should 
this so extraordinarily discompose Captain 
Pond, who had no particular affection for 
Fugler, and knew, besides, that all men — 
and especially hard drinkers — are mortal ? 

The answer is that the East and West 
Looe Volunteer Artillery was no ordinary 
Company. When, on May i6, 1803, King 
George told his faithful subjects, who had 
been expecting the announcement for some 
time, that the Treaty of xA.miens was no bet- 
ter than waste paper, public feeling in the 
two Looes rose to a very painful pitch. The 
inhabitants used to assemble before the post- 
office, to hear the French bulletins read out ; 
and though it was generally concluded that 
they held much falsehood, yet everybody 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


43 


felt misfortune in the air. Rumors flew 
about that a diversion would be made by 
sending an army into the Duchy to draw the 
troops thither while the invaders directed 
their main strength upon London. Quiet 
villagers, therefore, dwelt for the while in a 
constant apprehension, fearing to go to bed 
lest they should awake at the sound of the 
trumpet, or in the midst of the French 
troops ; scarcely venturing beyond sight of 
home lest, returning, they should find the 
homestead smoking and desolate. Each 
man had laid down the plan he should pur- 
sue ; some were to drive off the cattle, others 
to fire the corn. While the men worked in 
the fields their womankind — young maids 
and grandmothers, and ail that could be 
spared from domestic work — encamped above 
the cliffs, wearing red cloaks to scare the 
Frenchmen, and by night kept big bon- 
fires burning continually. Amid this pain- 
ful disquietude of the public mind “ the 
great and united Spirit of the British People 
armed itself for the support of their ancient 
Glory and Independence against the un- 
principled Ambition of the French Gov- 
ernment.” In other words, the Volunteer 
movement began. In the Duchy alone no 


44 


WANDERING HEATH 


less than 8,362 men enrolled themselves in 
thirty Companies of foot, horse, and artillery, 
as well out of enthusiasm as to escape the 
general levy that seemed probable — so mixed 
are all human actions. 

Of these the Looe Company was neither 
the greatest nor the least. It had neither 
the numerical strength of the Royal Stannary 
Artillery (1,115 men and officers) nor the 
numerical eccentricity of the St. German’s 
Cavalry, which consisted of forty troopers, all 
told, and eleven officers, and hunted the fox 
thrice a week during the winter months 
under Lord Eliot, Captain and M.F.H. 
The Looe Volunteers, however, started well 
in the matter of dress, which consisted of a 
dark-blue coat and pantaloons, with red 
facings and yellow wings and tassels, and a 
w'hite waistcoat. The officers’ sword-hilts 
were adorned with prodigious red and blue 
tassels, and the blade of Captain Pond’s, in 
particular, bore the inscription, My Life's 
Blood for the 7 wo Looes / ’ ’ — a legend which 
we must admit to be touching, even while 
we reflect that the purpose of the weapon 
was not to draw its owner’s life-blood. 

As a matter of mere history, this devoted 
blade had drawn nobody’s blood ; since, in 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


45 


the six years that followed their enlistment, 
the Looe Die-hards had never been given an 
opportunity for a brush with their country’s 
hereditary foes. How, then, did they ac- 
quire their proud title ? 

It was the Doctor’s discovery ; and per- 
haps, in the beginning, professional pride 
may have had something to do with it ; but 
his enthusiasm was quickly caught up by 
Captain Pond and communicated to the en- 
tire Company. 

‘‘Has it ever occurred to you. Pond,” 
the Doctor began, one evening in the late 
summer of 1808, as the two strolled home- 
ward from parade, “ to reflect on the rate of 
mortality in this Company of yours ? Have 
you considered that in all these five years 
since their establishment not a single man 
has died ? ” 

“ Why the deuce should he ? ” 

“But look here: I’ve worked it out on 
paper, and the mean age of your men is 
thirty-four years, or some five years more 
than the mean age of the entire population 
of East and West Looe. You see, on the one 
hand, you enlist no children, and on the 
other, you’ve enlisted several men of ripe 
age, because you’re accustomed to them and 


46 


WANDERING HEATH 


know their ways — which is a great help in 
commanding a Company. But this makes 
the case still more remarkable. Take any 
collection of seventy souls the sum of whose 
ages, divided by seventy, shall be thirty- 
four, and by all the laws of probability three, 
at least, ought to die in the course of a year. 
I speak, for the moment, of civilians. In 
the military profession,” the Doctor con- 
tinued, with perfect seriousness, ‘‘especially 
in time of war, the death-rate will be enor- 
mously heightened. But ” — with a flourish 
of the hand — “ I waive that. I waive even 
the real, if uncertainly estimated, risk of hand- 
ling, twice or thrice a week, and without 
timidity or particular caution, the combusti- 
bles and explosives supplied us by Govern- 
ment. And still I say that we might with 
equanimity have beheld our ranks thinned 
during these five years by the loss of fifteen 
men. And we have not lost a single one ! 
It is wonderful ! ’ ’ 

“War is a fearful thing,” commented 
Captain Pond, whose mind moved less 
nimbly than the Doctor’s. 

“ Dash it all, Pond ! Can’t you see that 
I’m putting the argument on a peace foot- 
ing? I tell you that in five years of peace 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


47 


any ordinary Company of the same size 
would have lost at least fifteen men.” 

“Then all I can say is that peace is a 
fearful thing, too.” 

“ But don’t you see that at this moment 
you’re commanding the most remarkable 
Company in the Duchy, if not in the whole 
of England ? ’ ’ 

“I do,” answered Captain Pond, flush- 
ing. “ It’s a responsibility, though. It 
makes a man feel proud ; but, all the same, 
I almost wish you hadn’t told me.” 

Indeed at first the weight of his responsi- 
bility counteracted the Captain’s natural 
elation. It lifted, however, at the next 
Corporation dinner, when the Doctor made 
public announcement of his discovery in 
a glowing speech, supporting his rhetoric 
by extracts from a handful of statistics and 
calculations, and ending, “ Gentlemen, we 
know the motto of the East and West Looe 
Volunteer Artillery to be ‘ Never Say Die ! ’ 
but seeing, after five years’ trial of them, 
that they never do die, what man (I ask) 
will not rejoice to belong to such a com- 
pany ? What man would not be proud to 
command it 

After this could Captain Pond lag behind ? 


48 


WANDERING HEATH 


His health was drunk amid thunders of ap- 
plause. He rose: he cast timidity to the 
winds : he spoke, and while he spoke won- 
dered at his own enthusiasm. Scarcely had 
he made an end before his fellow-townsmen 
caught him off his feet and carried him shoul- 
der high through the town by the light of 
torches. There were many aching heads in 
the two Looes next morning; but nobody 
died : and from that night Captain Pond’s 
Company wore the name of ‘‘The Die- 
hards. ’ ’ 

All went well at first ; for the autumn 
closed mildly. But with November came a 
spell of northeasterly gales, breeding bron- 
chial discomfort among the aged ; and 
Black Care began to dog the Commander. 
Pie caught himself regretting the admission 
of so many gunners of riper years, although 
the majority of these had served in his 
Majesty’s Navy, and were by consequence 
the best marksmen. They weathered the 
winter, however ; and a slight epidemic of 
whooping-cough, which broke out in the 
early spring, affected none of the Die-hards 
except the small bugler, and he took it in 
the mildest form. The men, following the 
Doctor’s lead, began to talk more boastfully 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


49 


than ever. Only the Captain shook his 
head, and his eyes wore a wistful look, as 
though he listened coTitinually for the foot- 
step of Nemesis — as, indeed, he did. The 
strain was breaking him. And in August, 
when word came from head-quarters that, all 
danger of invasion being now at an end, the 
Looe Volunteer Artillery would be dis- 
banded at the close of the year, he tried in 
vain to grieve. A year ago he would have 
wept in secret over the news. Now he went 
about with a solemn face and a bounding 
heart. A few months more and then 

And then, almost within sight of goal, 
Sergeant Fugler had broken down. Every- 
one knew that Fugler drank prodigiously; 
but so had his father and grandfather, and 
each of them had reached eighty. The fel- 
low had always carried his liquor well 
enough, too. Captain Pond looked upon 
it almost as a betrayal. 

I don’t know what folks’ constitutions 
are coming to in these days,” he kept mut- 
tering, on this morning of November the 3d, 
as he sat on the muzzle of Thundering Meg 
and dangled his legs. 

And then, glancing up, he saw the Doctor 
coming from the town along the shore-wall. 


50 


WANDERING HEATH 


and read evil news at once. For many of 
the Die-hards stopped the Doctor to question 
him, and stood gloomy as he passed on. It 
was popularly said in the two Looes, that 

if the Doctor gave a man up, that man 
might as well curl up his toes then and 
there. ’ ’ 

Catching sight of his Captain on the plat- 
form, the Doctor bent his steps thither, and 
they were slow and inelastic. 

‘‘ Tell me the worst,” said Captain Pond. 

‘‘ The worst is that he’s no better; no, 
the worst of all is that he knows he’s no 
better. My friend, between ourselves, it’s 
only a question of a day or two.” 

Silence followed for half a minute, the two 
officers avoiding each other’s eyes. 

He has a curious wish,” the Doctor re- 
sumed, still with his face averted and his 
gaze directed on the dull outline of Looe 
Island, a mile away. He says he knows 
he’s disgracing the Company, but he’s anx- 
ious, all the same, to have a military fin- 
eral : says if you can promise this, he’ll feel 
in a way that he’s forgiven.” 

“ He shall have it, of course.” 

Ah, but that’s not all. You remember, 
a couple of years back, when they had us 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


51 


down to Pendennis Castle for a week’s drill, 
there was a funeral of a Sergeant-Major in the 
Loyal Meneage ; and how the band played 
a sort of burial tune ahead of the body? 
Well, Fugler asked me if you could manage 
this Dead March, as he calls it, as well. He 
can whistle the tune if you want to know it. 
It seems it made a great impression on him.” 

“Then the man must be wandering! 
Hov/ the dickens can we manage a Dead 
March without a band? — and we haven’t 
even a fife and drum.” 

“ That’s what I told him. I suppose we 
couldn’t do anything with the church mu- 
sicians.” 

“ There’s only one man in the Company 
who belongs to the gallery, and that’s Uncle 
Issy Spettigew; and he plays the bass-viol. 
I doubt if you can play the Dead March on a 
bass-viol, and I’m morally certain you can’t 
play it and walk with it too. I suppose we 
can’ t borrow a band from another company ? ’ ’ 

“ What, and be the mock of the Duchy? 
— after all our pride I I fancy I seen you 
going over to Troy and asking Browne for 
the loan of his band. ‘ Hullo 1 ’ he’d say, 
* I thought you never had such a thing as 
a funeral over at Looe ! ’ I can hear the 


52 


WANDERING HEATH 


fellow chuckle. But I wish something could 
be done, all the same. A trifle of pomp 
would draw folks’ attention off our disap- 
pointment.” 

Captain Pond sighed and rose from the 
gun ; for the bugle was sounding from the 
upper battery. 

“ Fall in, gentlemen, if you please ! ” he 
shouted. His politen^s in addressing his 
Company might be envied even by the 
“ Blues.” 

The Doctor formed them up and told them 
off along the sea-wall, as if for inspection. 
“ Or-derarms ! ” “ Fix bayonets! ” “ Shoul- 
der arms 1 ” Then with a glance of inquiry 
at his Captain, who had fallen into a brown 
study, “ Rear rank, take open order. ” 

“ No, no,” interposed the Captain, wak- 
ing up and taking a guess at the sun’s alti- 
tude in the gray heavens. We’re late this 
morning : better march ’em up to the battery 
at once.” 

Then, quickly re-forming them, he gave 
the word, “ By the left ! Quick march ! ” 
and the Die - hards swung steadily up the 
hill toward the platform where the four 
9 -pounders grinned defiance to the ships of 
France. 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


53 


As a matter of fact, this battery stood out 
of reach of harm, with the compensating dis- 
advantage of being able to inflict none. The 
reef below would infallibly wreck any ship 
that tried to approach within the point-blank 
range of some 270 yards, and its extreme 
range of ten times that distance was no 
protection to the haven, which lay round a 
sharp corner of the cliff. But the engineer’s 
blunder was never a check upon the alacrity 
of the Die-hards, who cleaned, loaded, 
rammed home, primed, sighted, and blazed 
away with the precision of clockwork and the 
ardor of Britons, as though aware that the 
true strength of a nation lay not so much in 
the construction of her fortresses as in the 
spirits of her sons. 

Captain Pond halted, re-formed his men 
upon the platform, and, drawing a key from 
his pocket, ordered Lieutenant Clogg to the 
store-hut, with Uncle Issy in attendance to 
serve out the ammunition, rammers, sponges, 
water-buckets, etc. 

“But the door’s unlocked, sir,” an- 
nounced the lieutenant, with something like 
dismay. 

“ Unlocked ! ” echoed the Doctor. 

The Captain blushed. 


54 


WANDERING HEATH 


I could have sworn, Doctor, I turned 
the key in the lock before leaving last Thurs- 
day. I think my head must be going. I’ve 
been sleeping badly of late — it’s this worry 
about Fugler. However, I don’t suppose 
anybody ’ ’ 

A yell interrupted him. It came from 
Uncle Issy, who had entered the store-hut, 
and now emerged from it as if projected 
from a gun. 

The French ! The French ! ” 

For two terrible seconds the Die-hards 
eyed one another. Then some one in the 
rear rank whispered, An ambush ! ” The 
two ranks began to waver — to melt. Un- 
cle Issy, with head down and shoulders 
arched, was already stumbling down the 
slope toward the town. In another ten 
seconds the whole Company would be at his 
heels. 

The Doctor saved their reputation. He 
was as pale as the rest ; but a hasty remem- 
brance of the cubic capacity of the store-hut 
told him that the number of Frenchmen in 
ambush there could hardly be more than half 
a dozen. 

‘‘ Halt ! ” he shouted ; and Captain Pond 
shouted “Halt!” too, adding, “There’ll 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


55 


be heaps of time to run when we find out 
W'hat’s the matter.” 

The Die-hards hung, still wavering, upon 
the edge of the platform. 

“ For my part,” the Doctor declared, I 
don’t believe there’s anybody inside.” 

‘‘But there is. Doctor; for I saw him 
myself just as Uncle Issy called out,” said 
the second lieutenant. 

“ Was it only one man that you saw?” 
demanded Captain Pond. 

“That’s all. You see, it was this way: 
Uncle Issy stepped fore, with me a couple 
of paces behind him thinking of nothing so 
little as bloodshed and danger. If you’ll 
believe me, these things was the very last in 
my thoughts. Uncle Issy rolls aside the 
powder-cask, and what do I behold but a 
man ducking down behind it ! ‘ He’s firing 

the powder,’ thinks I, ‘and here endeth Will- 
iam George Clogg ! ’ So I shut my eyes, 
not willing to see my gay life whisked away 
in little portions ; though I feared it must 
come. And then I felt Uncle Issy flee past 
me like the wind. But I kept my eyes tight 
till I heard the Doctor here saying there 
wasn’t anybody inside. If you ask me what 
I think about the whole matter, I say, put- 


S6 


WANDERING HEATH 


ting one thing'' with another, that ’tis most 
like some poor chap taking shelter from the 
rain.” 

Captain Pond unsheathed his sword and 
advanced to the door of the hut. Who- 
ever you be,” he called aloud and firmly, 
‘‘ you’ve got no business there; so come out 
of it, in the name of King George ! ” 

At once there appeared in the doorway a 
little round-headed man in tattered and mud- 
soiled garments of blue cloth. His hair and 
beard were alike short, black, and stubbly ; 
his eyes large and feverish, his features 
smeared with powder and a trifle pinched 
and pale. In his left hand he carried a 
small bundle, wrapped in a knotted blue 
kerchief : his right he waved submissively 
toward Captain Pond. 

See now,” he began, “I give up. I 
am taken. Look you.” 

‘‘I think you must be a Frenchman,” 
said Captain Pond. 

Right. It is war : you have taken a 
Frenchman. Yes.” 

^‘Aspy?” the Captain demanded more 
severely. 

An escaped prisoner, more like,” sug- 
gested the Doctor; ‘‘broken out of Dart- 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 57 

moor, and hiding here for a chance to slip 
across.” 

“Monsieur le Lieutenant has guessed,” 
the little man answered, turning affably to 
the Doctor. “A spy? No. It is not on 
purpose that I find me near your fortifica- 
tions — oh, not a bit ! A prisoner more like, 
as Monsieur says. It is three days that I 
was a prisoner, and now look here, a pris- 
oner again. Alas ! will Monsieur le Capi- 
tal ne do me the honor to confide the name 
of his corps so gallant ? ” 

“ The Two Looes.” 

“ Toulouse! But it is singular that 
we also have a Toulouse ” 

‘ ‘ Hey ? ’ ’ broke in Second Lieutenant 
Clogg. 

“ I assure Monsieur that I say the truth.” 

“Well, go on ; only it don’t sound nat- 
ural.” 

“ Not that I have seen it ” — (“ Ha ! ” 
commented Mr. Clogg) — ‘‘ for it lies in the 
south, and I am from the north : Jean Al- 
phonse Marie Trinquier, instructor of music. 
Rue de la Madeline, quatr’ - vingt - neuf, 
Dieppe.” 

“Instructor of music?” echoed Captain 
Pond and the Doctor quickly and simultane- 
ously, and their eyes met. 


58 


WANDERING HEATH 


** And Directeur des Fetes Periodiques to 
the Municipality of Dieppe. All the Sun- 
days, you comprehend, upon the sands — 
poum poiim! while the citizens se promenent 
sur la plage. But all is not gay in this 
world. Last winter a terrible misfortune 
befell me. I lost my wife — my adored Phil- 
omene. I was desolated, inconsolable. For 
two months I could not take up my cornet- 
d-piston. Always when I blew — pouf ! — 
the tears came also. Ah ! what memories ! 
Hippolyte, my — what you call it — my beau- 
frere came to me and said, ‘ Jean Alphonse, 
you must forget.’ Isay, ^Hippolyte, you 
ask that which is impossible.’ ‘ I will teach 
you,’ says Hippolyte. ‘ To-morrow night 
I sail for Jersey, and from Jersey I cross to 
Dartmouth, in England, and you shall come 
with me.’ Hippolyte made his living by 
what you call the Free Trade. TIik was 
far down the coast for him, but he said the 
business with Rye and Deal was too danger- 
ous for a time. Next night we sailed. It 
was his last voyage. With the morning the 
wind changed, and we drove into a fog. 
When we could see again, peste ! — there was 
an English frigate. She sent down her 
cutter and took the rest of us ; but not Hip- 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


59 


polyte — poor Hippolyte was shot in the 
spine of his back. Him they cast into the 
sea, but the rest of us they take to Plymouth, 
and then the War Prison on the moor. This 
was in May, and there I rest until three 
days ago. Then I break owt—Je me sauve. 
How ? It is my affair : for I foresee, mes- 
sieurs, I shall now have to do it over again. 

I am sot. I gain the coast here at night. 

I am weary, je n' en plus plus. I find this 
cassine here : the door is open : I enter 
pour faire un petit somme. Before day I will 
creep down to the shore. A comrade in the 
prison said to me, ^ Go to Looe, I know a 

good Cornishman there ’ ” 

And you overslept yourself,” Captain 
Paul briskly interrupted, alert as ever to 
protect the credit of his Company. He was 
aware that several of the Die-hards, in extra- 
military hours, took an occasional trip across 
to Guernsey : and Guernsey is a good deal 
more than half-way to France. 

“The point is,” observed the Doctor, 
“ that you play the cornet.” 

“It is certain that I do so. Monsieur; 

but how that can be the point ’ ’ 

“ And instruct in music ? ” 
“Decidedly!” ^ 


6o 


WANDERING HEATH 


^ ‘ Do you know the Dead March ? ’ ’ 

M. Trinquier was unfeignedly bewildered. 
Said Captain Pond : Listen while I ex- 
plain. You are my prisoner, and it becomes 
my duty to send you back to Dartmoor un- 
der escort. But you are exhausted ; and 
notwithstanding my detestation of that in- 
fernal tyrant, your master, I am a humane 
man. At all events, I’m not going to ex- 
pose two of my Die-hards to the risks of a 
tramp to Dartmoor just now — I wouldn’t 
turn out a dog in such weather. It remains 
a question what I am to do with you in the 
meanwhile. I propose that you give me 
your parole that you will make no attempt 
to escape, let us say, for a month : and on 
receiving it I will at once escort you to my 
house, and see that you are suitably clothed, 
fed, and entertained.” 

I give it willingly, M. le Capitaine. 
But how am I to thank you ? ” 

^‘By playing the Dead March upon the 
cornet-d-piston and teaching others to do the 
same. ’ ’ 

‘‘That seems a singular way of showing 
one’s gratitude. But why the Dead March, 
Monsieur ? And, excuse me, there is more 
than one Dead March. I myself, par ex- 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


6i 


amplcy composed one to the memory of my 
adored Philomene but a week before Hippo- 
lyte came with his so sad proposition.” 

“I doubt if that will do. You see,” 
said Captain Pond, lifting his voice for the 
benefit of the Die-hards, who by this time 
were quite as sorely puzzled as their prisoner, 
‘ ‘ we are about to bury one of our Company, 

Sergeant Fugler ” 

Ah ! he is dead ? ” 

^^He is dying,” Captain Pond pursued, 
the more quickly since he now guessed, not 
without reason, that Fugler was the good 
Cornishman ” to whose door M. Trinquier 
had been directed. “ He is dying of a hob- 
nailed liver. It is his wish to have the 
Dead March played at his burying.” 

“ He whistled the tune over to me,” said 
the Doctor; but plague take me if I can 
whistle it to you. I’ve no ear, but I’d 
know it again if I heard it. Dismal isn’t 
the w'ord for it.” 

It will be Handel. I am sure it will be 
Handel — the Dead March in his Saul. ’ ’ 

In his what? ” 

In his oratorio of Saul. Listen — -poum^ 
poum, prrr, poum 

‘‘Be dashed, but you’ve got it ! ” cried 


62 


WANDERING HEATH 


the Doctor, delighted; ‘^though you do 
give it a sort of foreign accent. But I dare- 
say that won’t be so noticeable on the key- 
bugle.” 

‘‘But about this key-bugle, Monsieur? 
And the other instruments — not to mention 
the players ? ’ ’ 

“I’ve been thinking of that,” said Cap- 
tain Pond. “ There’s Butcher Tregaskis has 
a key-bugle. He plays ‘ Rule Britannia ’ 
upon it when he goes round with the suet. 
He’ll lend you that till we can get one 
down from Plymouth. A drum, too, you 
shall have. Hockaday’s trader calls here 
to-morrow on her way to Plymouth ; she 
shall bring both instruments back with her. 
Then we have the church musicians — Peter 
Tweedy, first fiddle ; Matthew John Ede, 
second ditto ; Thomas Tripconey, scor- 
pion ” 

“Serpent,” the Doctor corrected. 

“ Well, it’s a filthy thing to look at, any- 
way. Israel Spettigew, bass-viol ; William 
Henry Phippin, flute ; and William Henry 
Phippin’s eldest boy Archelaus to tap the 
triangle at the right moment. That boy, 
sir, will play the triangle almost as well as a 
man grown.” 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


63 


** Then, Monsieur, take me to your house. 
Give me a little food and drink, pen, ink, 
and paper, and in three hours, you shall have 
la partition^ 

Said the Doctor, That’s all very well, 
Pond, but the church musicianers can’t 
march with their music, as you told me just 
now.” 

‘‘I’ve thought of that, too. We’ll have 
Miller Penrose’s covered three-horse wagon 
to march ahead of the coffin. Hang it in 
black and go slow, and all the musicianers 
can sit around inside and play away as merry 
as grigs.” 

“ The cover’ll give the music a sort of 
muffly sound; but that,” Lieutenant Clogg 
suggested, “will be all the more fitty for a 
funeral.” 

“ So it will, Clogg, so it will. But we’re 
wasting time. I suppose you won’t ob- 
ject, sir, to be marched down to my house 
by the Company? It’s the regular thing 
in case of taking a prisoner, and you’ll be 
left to yourself as soon as you get to my 
door.” 

“ Not at all,” said M. Trinquier, amiably. 

“ Then, gentlemen, form in. The prac- 
tice is put off. And when you get home, 


64 


WANDERING HEATH 


mind you change your stockings, all of you. 
We’re in luck’s way this morning, but that’s 
no reason for recklessness. ’ ’ 

So M. Trinquier, sometime Director of 
Periodical Festivities to the Municipality of 
Dieppe, was marched down into East Looe, 
to the wonder and delight of the inhabitants, 
who had just recovered from the shock of 
Gunner Spettigew’s false alarm, and were in a 
condition to be pleased with trifles. As the 
Company tramped along the street, Captain 
Pond pointed out the Town Hall to his 
prisoner. 

“ That will be the most convenient place 
to hold your practices. And that is Fugler’s 
house, just opposite.” 

‘‘ But we cannot practise without making 
a noise.” 

I hope not, indeed. Didn’t I promise 
you a big drum ? ’ ’ 

But in that case the sick man will hear. 
It wall disturb his last moments.” 

Confound the fellow, he can’t have 
everything ! If he’d asked for peace and 
quiet, he should have had it. But he didn’t : 
he asked for a Dead March. Don’t you 
trouble about Fugler. He’s not an un- 
reasonable man. The only question is, if 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 65 

the Doctor here can keep him going until 
you’re perfect with the tune.” 

And this was the question upon which the 
men of Looe, and especially the Die-hards, 
hung breathless for the next few days. M. 
Trinquier produced his score ; the musi- 
cianers came forward eagerly; Miller Pen- 
rose promised his waggon ; the big drum 
arrived from Plymouth in the trader Good 
Intent, and was discharged upon the quay 
amid enthusiasm. The same afternoon, at 
four o’clock, M. Trinquier opened his first 
practice in the Town Hall, by playing over 
the air of the “ Dead Marching Soul ” — (to 
this the popular mouth had converted the 
name) — upon his cornet, just to give his 
pupils a general notion of it. 

The day had been a fine one, with just 
that suspicion of frost in the air w'hich in- 
dicates winter on the warm southwestern 
coast. While the musicians were assem- 
bling the Doctor stepped across the street to 
see how the invalid would take it. Fugler 
— a sharp-featured man of about fifty, good- 
looking, with blue eyes and a tinge of red 
in his hair — lay on his bed with his mouth 
firmly set and his eyes resting, wistfully 
almost, on the last wintry sunbeam that 


66 


WANDERING HEATH 


floated in by the geraniums on the window- 
ledge. He had not heard the news. For 
five days now he expected nothing but the 
end, and lay and waited for it stoically and 
with calm good temper. 

The Doctor took a seat by the bedside, 
and put a question or two. They were 
answered by Mrs. Fugler, who moved about 
the small room quietly, removing, dusting 
and replacing the china ornaments on the 
chimney-piece. The sick man lay still, with 
his eyes upon the sunbeam. 

And then very quietly and distinctly the 
notes of M. Trinquier’s key-bugle rose out- 
side on the frosty air. 

The sick man started, and made as if to 
raise himself on his elbow, but quickly sank 
back again — perhaps from weakness, perhaps 
because he caught the Doctor’s eye and the 
Doctor’s reassuring nod. While he lay back 
and listened, a faint flush crept into his face, 
as though the blood ran quicker in his weak 
limbs; and his blue eyes took a new light 
altogether. 

“That’s the tune, hey?” the Doctor 
asked. 

“ That’s the tune.” 

“ Dismal, ain’t it ? ” 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 67 

Ay, it’s that.’* His fingers were beat- 
ing time on the counterpane. 

“That’s our new bandmaster. He’s got 
to teach it to the rest, and you’ve got to 
hold out till they pick it up. Whew ! I’d 
no idea music could be so dismal.” 

“ Hush ’ee. Doctor, do ! till he’ve a- 
done. ’Tis like rain on blossom.” The 
last notes fell. “ Go you down. Doctor, and 
say my duty and will he please play it over 
once more, and Fugler’ll gi’e ’em a run for 
their money. 

The Doctor went back to the Town Hall 
and delivered this encore^ and M. Trinquier 
played his solo again ; and in the middle 
of it Mr. Fugler dropped off into an easy 
sleep. 

After this the musicians met every even- 
ing, Sundays and weekdays, and by the third 
evening the Doctor was able to predict with 
confidence that Fugler w^ould last out. In- 
deed, the patient was strong enough to be 
propped up into a sitting posture during the 
hour of practice, and not only listened with 
pleasure to the concerted piece, but beat 
time with his fingers while each separate in- 
strument went over its part, delivering, at 
the close of each performance, his opinion of 


68 


WANDERING HEATH 


it to Mrs. Fugler or the Doctor : Tripco- 

ney’s breath’s failin’. He don’t do no sort 
o’ justice by that sarpint.” Or: ‘‘There’s 
Uncle Issy agen ! He always do come to 
grief juss there ! I reckon a man of sixty- 
odd ought to give up the bass-viol. He 
ha’ n’t got the agility.” 

On the fifth evening Mrs. Fugler was sent 
across to the Town Hall to ask why the 
triangle had as yet no share in the perform- 
ance, and to suggest that William Henry 
Phippin’s eldest boy, Archelaus, played that 
instrument “ to the life.” M. Trinquier 
replied that it was unusual to seek the aid of 
the triangle in rendering the Dead March in 
Saul. Mr. Fugler sent back word that, “if 
you came to that, the whole thing was un- 
usual, from start to finish.” To this M. 
Trinquier discovered no answer ; and the 
triangle was included, to the extreme delight 
of Archelaus Phippin, whose young life had 
been clouded for a week past. 

On the sixth evening Mr. Fugler an- 
nounced a sudden fancy to “ touch pipe.” 

“Hey?” said the Doctor, opening his 
eyes. 

“I’d like to tetch pipe. An’ let me 
light the brimstone m>ser. I likes to see 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 69 

the little blue flame turn yellow, a-dancin’ 
on the baccy.” 

^‘Get’n his pipe and baccy, missis,” the 
Doctor commanded. He may kill him- 
self clean ofif now : the band’ll be ready by 
the funeral, anyway.” 

On the three following evenings Mr. Fug- 
ler sat up and smoked during band practice, 
the Doctor observing him with a new inter- 
est. The tenth day the Doctor was called 
away to attend a childbirth at Downderry. 
At the conclusion of the cornet solo, with 
which M. Trinquier regularly opened prac- 
tice, the sick man said — 

‘‘Wife, get me out my clothes.” 

“ What ! ” 

“ Get me out my clothes.” 

“ You’re mad ! It’ll be your death.” 

“ I doiFt care : the band’s ready. Uncle 
Issy got his part perfect las’ night, an’ that’s 
more’n I ever prayed to hear. Get me out 
my clothes an’ help me downstairs.” 

The Doctor was far away. Mrs. Fugler 
was forced to give in. Weeping, and with 
shaking hands, she dressed him and helped 
him to the foot of the stairs, where she threw 
open the parlor door. 

“ No,” he said, “ Fm not goin’ in there. 


70 


WANDERING HEATH 


I’ll be steppin’ across to the Town Hall. 
Gie me your arm. ’ ’ 

Thomas Tripconey was rehearsing upon 
the serpent when the door of the Town Hall 
opened and the music he made died away 
in a wail, as of a dog whose foot has been 
trodden on. William Henry Phippin’s eldest 
son Archelaus cast his triangle down and 
shrieked Ghosts, ghosts ! ” Uncle Issy 
cowered behind his bass-viol and put a hand 
over his eyes. M. Trinquier spun round to 
face the intruder, baton in one hand, cornet 
in the other. 

“Thank ’ee, friends,” said Mr. Fugler, 
dropping into a seat by the door, and catch- 
ing breath : “ you’ve got it very suent. 

’Tisa beautiful tune, an’ I’m ha’af ashamed 
to tell ’ee that I bain’t goin’ to die, this 
time. ’ ’ 

Nor did he. 

The East and West Looe Volunteer Ar- 
tillery was disbanded a few weeks later, on 
the last day of the year 1809. The Corpora- 
tions of the two boroughs entertained the 
heroes that evening to a complimentary ban- 
quet in the East Looe Town Hall, and Ser- 
geant Fugler had recovered sufficiently to at- 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


71 


tend, though not to partake. The Doctor 
made a speech over him, proving him by 
statistics to be the most wonderful member 
of the most wonderful corps in the world. 
The Doctor granted, however — at such a 
moment the Company could make conces- 
sions — that the Die-hards had been singularly 
fortunate in the one foeman whom they had 
been called upon to face. Had it not been 
for a gentleman of France the death-roll of 
the Company had assuredly not stood at 
zero. He, their surgeon, readily admitted 
this, and gave them a toast: “The Power 
of Music, ’ ’ associating with this the name of 
Monsieur Jean Alphonse Marie Trinquier, 
Director of Periodic Festivities to the Mu- 
nicipality of Dieppe. The toast was drunk 
with acclamation. M. Trinquier responded, 
expressing his confident belief that two so 
gallant nations as England and France could 
not long be restrained from flinging down 
their own arms and rushing into each other’s. 
And then followed Captain Pond, who, hav- 
ing moved his audience to tears, pronounced 
the Looe Die-hards disbanded. Thereupon, 
with a gesture full of tragic inspiration, he 
cast his naked blade upon the board. As 
it clanged amid the dishes and glasses, M. 


72 


WANDERING HEATH 


Trinquier lifted his arms, and the band 
crashed out the Dead Marching Soul,” 
following it with “ God save the King ” as 
the clock announced midnight and the birth 
of the New Year. 

“ But hullo? ” exclaimed Captain Pond, 
sinking back in his chair, and turning 
toward M. Trinquier. “ I had clean forgot 
that you are our prisoner, and should be 
sent back to Dartmoor. And now the Com- 
pany is disbanded, and I have no one to 
send as escort. ’ ’ 

“ Monsieur also forgets that my parole ex- 
pired a fortnight since, and that my service 
from that hour has been a service of love. ’ ’ 

M. Trinquier did not return to Dartmoor. 
For it happened, one dark night early in the 
following February that Mr. Fugler (now 
restored to health) set sail for the island of 
Guernsey upon a matter of business. And 
on the morrow the music-master of Dieppe 
had become but a pleasing memory to the 
inhabitants of the Two Looes. 

And now, should you take up Mr. Thomas 
Bond’s “History of East and West Looe,” 
and read of the Looe Volunteers that “ not 
a single man of the Company died during 


THE LOOE DIE-HARDS 


73 


the six years, which is certainly very re- 
markable,” you will be not utterly incredu- 
lous ; for you will know how it came about. 
Still, when one comes to reflect, it does seem 
an odd boast for a company of warriors. 


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MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY 
WATTY 


A DROLL 

’Tis the nicest miss in the world that I 
was born grandson of my own father’s fath- 
er, and not of another man altogether. 
Hendry Watty was the name of my grand- 
father that might have been ; and he always 
maintained that to all intents and purposes 
he was my grandfather, and made me call 
him so — ’twas such a narrow shave. I 
don’t mind telling you about it. ’Tis a 
curious tale, too. 

My grandfather, Hendry Watty, bet four 
gallons of eggy-hot that he would row out 
to the Shivering Grounds, all in the dead 
waste of the night, and haul a trammel 
there. To find the Shivering Grounds by 
night, you get the Gull Rock in a line with 
Tregamenna and pull out till you open the 


76 


WANDERING HEATH 


light on St. Anthony’s Point ; but every- 
body gives the place a wide berth because ! 
Archelaus Rowett’s lugger foundered there, j 
one time, with six hands on board ; and 
they say that at night you can hear the i 
drowned men hailing their names. But my i 
grandfather was the boldest man in Port 
Loe, and said he didn’t care. So one ' 
Christmas Eve by daylight he and his mates 
went out and tilled the trammel ; and then 
they came back and spent the forepart of 
the evening over the eggy-hot, down to Oli- 
ver’s tiddly-wink,* to keep my grandfather’s 
spirits up and also to show that the bet was 
made in earnest. 

’Twas past eleven o’clock when they left 
Oliver’s and walked down to the cove to see 
my grandfather off. He has told me since 
that he didn’t feel afraid at all, but very 
friendly in mind, especially toward William 
John Dunn, who was walking on his right 
hand. This puzzled him at the first, for as 
a rule he didn’t think much of William John 
Dunn. But now he shook hands with him 
several times, and just as he was stepping 
into the boat he says, “You’ll take care of 
Mary Polly while I’m away.” Mary Polly 
^ Beer-house. 


MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY WATTY 77 

Polsue was my grandfather’s sweetheart at 
that time. But why he should have spoken 
as if he was bound on a long voyage he never 
could tell ; he used to set it down to fate. 

“I will,” said William John Dunn; and 
then they gave a cheer and pushed my grand- 
father off, and he lit his pipe and away he 
rowed all into the dead waste of the night. 
He rowed and rowed, all in the dead waste 
of the night ; and he got the Gull Rock in 
a line with Tregamenna windows ; and still 
he was rowing, when to his great surprise he 
heard a voice calling : 

‘ ‘ Hendry IVaUy / Hendry Watty ! ’ ’ 

I told you my grandfather was the bold- 
est man in Port Loe. But he dropped his 
two oars now, and made the five signs of 
Penitence. For Avho could it be calling 
him out here in the dead waste and middle 
of the night ? 

HENDRY WATTY ! HENDRY 

WATTY ! drop me a lined' 

My grandfather kept his fishing-lines in a 
little skivet under the stern-sheets. But not 
a trace of bait had he on board. If he had, 
he was too much a-tremble to bait a hook. 

“ HENDRY WATTY ! HENDRY 

W AT' r Y ! drop me a line, or T ll know why. ’ ’ 


78 


WANDERING HEATH 


My poor grandfather by this had picked 
lip his oars again, and was rowing like mad 
to get quit of the neighborhood, when 
something or somebody gave three knocks — 
thu7np^ thumps thump / — on the bottom of 
the boat, just as you would knock on a door. 
The third thump fetched Hendry Watty up- 
right on his legs. He had no more heart 
for disobeying, but having bitten his pipe- 
stem in half by this time — his teeth chat- 
tered so — he baited his hook with the broken 
bit and flung it overboard, letting the line 
run out in the stern-notch. Not half-way 
had it run before he felt a long pull on it, 
like the sucking of a dog-fish. 

Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! pull 
me in.'' 

Hendry Watty pulled in hand over fist, 
and in came the lead sinker over the notch, 
and still the line was heavy ; he pulled and 
he pulled, and next, all out of the dead 
waste of the night, came two white hands, 
like a washerwoman’s, and gripped hold of 
the stern-board ; and on the left of these 
two hands, on the little finger, was a silver 
ring, sunk very dee}) in the flesh. If this 
was bad, worse was the face that followed — 
a great white parboiled face, with the hair 


MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY WATTY 79 

and whiskers all stuck with chips of wood 
and sea- weed. And if this was bad for any- 
body, it was worse for my grandfather, who 
had known Archelaus Rowett before he was 
drowned out on the Shivering Grounds, six 
years before. 

Archelaus Rowett climbed in over the 
stern, pulled the hook with the bit of pipe- 
stem out of his cheek, sat down in the stern - 
sheets, shook a small crayfish out of his 
whiskers, and said very coolly : 

If you should come across my wife ’ ’ 

That was all my grandfather stayed to hear. 
At the sound of Archelaus’ s voice he fetched 
a yell, jumped clean over the side of the 
boat and swam for dear life. He swam and 
swam, till by the bit of the moon he saw the 
Gull Rock close ahead. There were lash- 
in’s of rats on the Gull Rock, as he knew ; 
but he was a good deal surprised at the way 
they were behaving, for they sat in a row at 
the water’s edge and fished, with their tails 
let down into the sea for fishing-lines ; and 
their eyes were like garnets burning as they 
looked at my grandfather over their shoulders. 

Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! you 
can’t land here — you’re disturbing the pol- 
lack.” 


8o 


WANDERING HEATH 


Bejimbers ! I wouldn’ do that for the 
world,” says my grandfather; so off he 
pushes and swims for the mainland. This 
was a long job, and ’twas as much as he 
could do to reach Kibberick beach, where 
he fell on his face and hands among the 
stones, and there lay, taking breath. 

The breath was hardly back in his body 
before he heard footsteps, and along the 
beach came a woman, and passed close by to 
him. He lay very quiet, and as she came 
near he saw ’twas Sarah Rowett, that used 
to be Archelaus’s wife, but had married an- 
other man since. She was knitting as she 
went by, and did not seem to notice my 
grandfather ; but he heard her say to her- 
self, ‘ ‘ The hour is come, and the man is 
come. ’ ’ 

He had scarcely begun to wonder over 
this when he spied a ball of worsted yarn 
beside him that Sarah had dropped. ’Twas 
the ball she was knitting from, and a line of 
worsted stretched after her along the beach. 
Hendry Watty picked up the ball and fol- 
lowed the thread on tiptoe. In less than a 
minute he came near enough to watch what 
she was doing ; and what she did was worth 
watching. First she gathered wreck wood 


MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY WATTY 8i 


and straw, and struck flint over touchwood 
and teened a fire. Then she unravelled her 
knitting ; twisted her end of the yarn be- 
tween finger and thumb — like a cobbler 
twisting a wax-end — and cast the end up 
towards the sky. It made Hendry Watty 
stare when the thread, instead of falling back 
to the ground, remained hanging, just as if 
’twas fastened to something up above; but 
it made him stare more when Sarah Rowett 
began to climb up it, and away up till noth- 
ing could be seen of her but her ankles 
dangling out of the dead waste and middle 
of the night. 

HENDRY WATTY ! HENDRY 

' WATTY!” 

I It w^asn’t Sarah calling, but a voice far 
away out to sea. 

HENDRY WATTY ! HENDRY 

WATTY ! send me a line ” 

My grandfather was wondering what to 
do, when Sarah speaks down very sharp to 
him, out of the dark : 

Hendry Watty ! where’s the rocket 
apparatus? Can’t you hear the poor fellow 
asking for a line ? ” 

‘‘ I do,” says my grandfather, who was 
beginning to lose his temper ; “ and do you 


82 


WANDERING HEATH 


think, ma’am, that I carry a Boxer’s rocket 
in my trowsers pocket ? ” 

‘‘ I think you have a ball of worsted in 
your hand,” says she. Throw it as far as 
you can.” 

So my grandfather threw the ball out into 
the dead waste and middle of the night. 
He didn’t see where it pitched, or how far 
it went. 

‘‘ Right it is,” says the woman aloft. 
“ ’Tis easy seen you’re a hurler. But what 
shall us do for a cradle? Hendry Watty ! 
Hendry Watty ! ” 

** Ma’am toy^u/* said my grandfather. 

“ If you’ve the common feelings of a gen- 
tleman, I’ll ask you kindly to turn your 
back; I’m going to take off my stocking.” 

So my grandfather stared the other way 
very politely ; and when he was told he 
might look again, he saw she had tied the 
stocking to the line and was running it out 
like a cradle into the dead waste of the 
night. 

‘‘Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! look 
out below ! ’ ’ 

Before he could answer, plump ! a man’s 
leg came tumbling past his ear and scat- 
tered the ashes right and left. 


MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY WATTY 83 

^‘Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! look 
out below ! 

This time ’twas a great white arm and 
hand, with a silver ring sunk tight in the 
flesh of the little finger. 

“ Hendry Watty ! Hendry Watty ! 
warm them limbs ! ” 

My grandfather picked them up and was 
warming them before the fire, when down 
came tumbling a great round head and 
bounced twice and lay in the firelight, star- 
ing up at him. And whose head was it but 
Archelaus Rowett’s, that he’d run away 
from once already that night. 

Hendry Watty ! Hendry Watty ! look 
out below ! ’ ’ 

This time ’twas another leg, and my 
grandfather was just about to lay hands on 
it, when the woman called down : 

‘‘Hendry Watty! catch it quick! It’s 
my own leg I’ve thrown down by mistake.” 

The leg struck the ground and bounced 
high, and Hendry Watty made a leap after 
it. 

jjc jjc 

And I reckon it’s asleep he must have 
been; for what he caught was not Mrs. 
Rowett’s leg, but the jib-boom of a deep- 


84 


WANDERING HEATH 


laden brigantine that was running him down 
in the dark. And as he sprang for it, his 
boat was crushed by the brigantine’s fore- 
foot and went down under his very boot- 
soles. At the same time he let out a yell, 
and two or three of the crew ran forward 
and hoisted him up to the bowsprit and 
in on deck, safe and sound. 

But the brigantine happened to be out- 
ward-bound for the River Plate ; so that, 
what with one thing and another, ’twas 
eleven good months before my grandfather 
landed again at Port Loe. And who should 
be the first man he sees standing above the 
cove but William John Dunn ? 

I’m very glad to see you,” says Will- 
iam John Dunn. 

Thank you kindly,” answers my grand- 
father ; and how’s Mary Polly ? ” 

“Why, as for that,” he says, “she took 
so much looking after, that I couldn’t feel 
I was keeping her properly under my eye 
till I married her, last June month.” 

“You was always one to over-do things,” 
said my grandfather. 

“ But if you was alive an’, well, why didn’ * 
you drop us a line? ” 

Now when it came to talk about “drop- 


MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY WATTY 85 


ping a line ’ ’ my grandfather fairly lost his 
temper. So he struck William John Dunn 
on the nose — a thing he had never been 
known to do before — and William John 
Dunn hit him back, and the neighbors had 
to separate them. And next day, William 
John Dunn took out a summons against 
him. 

Well, the case was tried before the mag- 
istrates : and my grandfather told his story 
from the beginning, quite straightforward, 
just as I’ve told it to you. And the magis- 
trates decided that, taking one thing with 
another, he’d had a great deal of provoca- 
tion, and fined him five shillings. And 
there the matter ended. But now you 
know the reason why I’m William John 
Dunn’s grandson instead of Hendry Wat- 
ty’s. 





r 




JETSOM 


Where Gerennius’ beacon stands 
High above Pendower sands ; 

Where, about the windy Nare, 

Foxes breed and falcons pair ; 

Where the gannet dries a wing 
Wet with fishy harvesting, 

And the cormorants resort. 

Flapping slowly from their sport 
With the fat Atlantic shoal. 

Homeward to Tregeagle’s Hole ; — 
Walking there, the other day, 

In a bight within a bay, 

I espied amid the rocks 
Bruis’d and jamm’d, the daintiest box, 
That the waves had flung and left 
High upon an ivied cleft. 

Striped it was with white and red. 
Satin-lined and carpeted. 

Hung with bells, and shaped withal 
Like the queer, fantastical 
Chinese temples you’ll have seen 


88 


WANDERING HEATH 


Pictured upon white Nankin, 

Where, assembled in effective 
Head-dresses and odd perspective. 
Tiny dames and mandarins 
Expiate their egg-shell sins 
By reclining on their drumsticks. 
Waving fans and burning gum-sticks. 
Land of poppy and pekoe ! 

Could thy sacred artists know — 
Could they possibly conjecture 
How we use their architecture. 
Ousting the indignant Joss 
For a pampered Flirt or Floss, 
Poodle, Blenheim, Skye, Maltese, 
Lapped in purple and proud ease. 
They might read their god’s reproof 
Here on blister’d wall and roof; 
Scaling lacquer, dinted bells. 

Floor befouled of weed and shells. 
Where, as erst the tabid curse 
Brooded over Pelops’ hearse. 

Squats the sea-cow, keeping house, 
Sibylline, gelatinous. 

Where is Carlo ? Tell, O tell. 

Echo, from this fluted shell. 

In whose concave ear the tides 
Murmur what the main confides 


JETSOM 


89 


Of his compass’d treacheries ! 

What of Carlo ? Did the breeze 
Madden to a gale while he, 

Curled and cushioned cosily, 

Mixed in dreams its angry breathings 
With the tinkle of the tea-things 
In his mistress’ cabin laid ? 

Nor dyspeptic, nor dismayed, 
Drowning in a gentle snore 
All the menace of the shore 
Thundered from the surf a-lee, 

Near and nearer horribly, — 

Scamper of affrighted feet. 

Voices cursing sail and sheet. 

While the tall ship shook in irons — 
All the peril that environs 
Vessels ’twixt the wind and rock 
Clawing — driving? Did the shock, 
As the sunk reef split her back. 

First arouse him? Did the crack 
Widen swiftly and deposit 
Him in homeless night ? 

Or was it. 

Not when wave or wind assailed, 

But in waters dumb and veiled. 

That a looming shape uprist 
Sudden from the Channel mist, 

And with crashing, rending bows 


90 


WANDERING HEATH 


Woke him, in his padded house, 

To a world of altered features? 

Were these panic -ridden creatures 
They who, but an hour agone, 

Ran with biscuit, ran with bone, 
Ran with meats in lordly dishes. 

To anticipate his wishes? 

But an hour agone ? And now how 
Vain his once compelling bow-wow ! 
Little dogs are highly treasured. 
Petted, patted, pampered, pleasured 
But when ships go down in fogs, 

No one thinks of little dogs. 

Ah, but how dost fare, I wonder. 
Now thine Argo splits asunder. 
Pouring on the wasteful sea 
All her precious bales, and thee ? 
Little use is now to rave. 

Calling god or saint to save ; 

Little use, if choked with salt, a 
Prayer to holy John of Malta. 
Patron John, he hears thee not. 

Or, perchance, in dusky grot 
Pale Persephone, repining 
For the fields that still are shining, 
Shining in her sleepless brain. 
Calling Back ! come back again ! 


JETSOM 


91 


Fain of playmate, fain of pet — 

Any drug to slay regret, 

Hath from hell upcast an eye 
On thy fatal symmetry ; 

And beguiled her sooty lord 
With his brother to accord 
For this black betrayal. Else 
Nereus in his car of shells 
Long ago had cleft the waters 
With his natatory daughters 
To the rescue : or Poseidon 
Sent a fish for thee to ride on — 

Such a steed as erst Arion 

Reached the mainland high and dry on. 

Steed appeareth none, nor pilot ! 

Little dog, if it be thy lot 
To essay the dismal track 
Where Odysseus half hung back, 

How wilt thou conciliate 
That grim mastiff by the gate ? 

Sure, ’twill puzzle thee to fawn 
On his muzzles three that yawn 
Antrous ; or to find, poor dunce, 

Grace in his six eyes at once — 

Those red eyes of Cerberus. 

Daughters of Oceanus, 

Save our darling from this hap ! 


92 


WANDERING HEATH 


Arethusa, spread thy lap, 

Catch him, and with pinky hands 
Bear him to the coral sands. 

Where thy sisters sit in school 
Carding the Milesian wool : — 

Clio, Spio, Beroe, 

Opis and Phyllodoce, — 

Pass by these, and also pass 
Yellow-haired Lycorias ; 

Pass Ligea, shrill of song — 

All the dear surrounding throng ; 

Lay him at Cyrene’s feet 
There, where all the rivers meet : 

In their waters crystalline 
Bathe him clean of weed and brine, 
Comb him, wipe his pretty eyes. 
Then to Zeus who rules the skies 
Call, assembling in a round 
Every fish that can be found — 

Whale and merman, lobster, cod, 
Tiddlebat and demigod : — 

Lord of all the Universe, 

We, thy finny pensioners. 

Sue thee for the little life 
Hurried hence by Hades’ wife. 
Sooner than she call him her dog. 
Change, O change him to a mer-dog 
Re-inspire the vital spark ; 


JETSOM 


93 


Bid him wag his tail and bark, 

Bark for joy to wag a tail 
Bright with many a flashing scale ; 

Bid his locks refulgent twine, 

Hyacinthe, hyaline ; 

Bid him gambol, bid him follow 
Blithely to the mermen’s ‘ holloa ! ’ 

When they call the deep-sea calves 
Home with wreathed univalves. 

Softly shall he sleep to-night. 

Curled on couch of stalagmite. 

Soft and sound, if slightly moister 
Than the shell-protected oyster. 

Grant us this. Omnipotent, 

And to Hera shall be sent 
One black pearl, but of a size 
That shall turn her rivals’ eyes 
Greener than the greenest snake 
Fed in meadow-grass, and make 
All Olympus run agog. 

Grant for this our darling dog ! ” 

Musing thus, the other day. 

In a bight within a bay, 

I’d a sudden thought that yet some 
Purpose for this piece of jetsom 
Might be found ; and straight supplied it. 
On the turf I knelt beside it. 


94 


WANDERING HEATH 


Disengaged it from the bowlders, 
Hoisted it upon my shoulders, 

Bore it home, and, with a few 
Tin-tacks and a pot of glue. 

Mended it, affixed a ledge ; 

Set it by the elder-hedge ; 

And in May, with horn and kettle. 
Coax’d a swarm of bees to settle. 
Here around me now they hum ; 

And in autumn should you come 
Westward to my Cornish home. 
There’ll be honey in the comb — 
Honey that, with clotted cream 
(Though I win not your esteem 
As a bard), will prove me wise. 

In that, of the double prize 

Sent by Hermes from the sea, I’ve 

Sold the song and kept the bee-hive. 


WRESTLERS 


As Boutigo’s Van (officially styled the 

Vivid ”) slackened its already inconsider- 
able pace at the top of the street, to slide 
precipitately down into Troy upon a heated 
skid, the one outside passenger began to 
stare about him with the air of a man who 
compares present impressions with old mem- 
ories. His eyes travelled down the in- 
clined plane of slate roofs, glistening in a 
bright interval between two showers, to the 
masts which rocked slowly by the quays, and 
from thence to the silver bar of sea beyond 
the harbor’s mouth, where the outline of 
Battery Point wavered unsteadily in the 
dazzle of sky and water. He sniffed the 
fragrance of pilchards cooking and the fumes 
of pitch blown from the ship-builders’ yards ; 
and scanned with some curiosity the men 
and women who drew aside into doorways 
to let the van pass. 

He was a powerfully made man of about 


96 


WANDERING HEATH 


sixty-five, with a solemn, hard-set face. The 
upper lip was clean-shaven and the chin 
decorated with a square, grizzled beard — a 
mode of wearing the hair that gave promi- 
nence to the ugly lines of the mouth. He 
wore a Sunday-best suit and a silk hat. He 
carried . a blue band-box on his knees, and 
his enormous hands were spread over the 
cover. Boutigo, who held the reins beside 
him, seemed, in comparison with this mighty 
passenger, but a trivial accessory of his own 
vehicle. 

Where did you say William Dendle 
lives?” asked the big man, as the van 
swung round a sharp corner and came to a 
halt under the sign-board of The Lugger.” 

‘‘ Straight on for maybe quarter of a mile 
— turn down a court to the right, facin’ the 
toll-house. You’ll see his sign, ‘ W. Dendle, 
Block and Pump Manufacturer.’ There’s a 
flight o’ steps leadin’ ’ee slap into his work- 
shop. ’ ’ 

The passenger set his hand-box down on 
the cobbles between his ankles and counted 
out the fare. 

‘‘I’ll be goin’ back to-night. Is there 
any reduction on a return journey? ” 

“No, sir; ’tisn’ the rule, an’ us can’t 


WRESTLERS 97 

begin to cheapen the fee wi’ a man o’ your 
inches. ’ ’ 

The stranger apparently disliked levity. 
He stared at Boutigo, picked up his band- 
box, and strode down the street without 
more words. 

By the red and yellow board opposite the 
toll-house he paused for a moment or two in 
the sunshine, as if to rehearse the speech 
with which he meant to open his business. 
A woman passed him with a child in her 
arms, and turned her head to stare. The 
stranger looked up and caught her eye. 

That’s Dendle’s shop down the steps,” 
she said, somewhat confused at being caught. 

“ Thank you ; I know.” 

He turned in at the doorway and began 
to descend. The noise of persistent ham- 
mering echoed within the workshop at his 
feet. A workman came out into the yard, 
carrying a plank. 

“ Is William Dendle here ? ” 

The man looked up and pointed at the 
quay-door, which stood open, with threads 
of light wavering over its surface. Beyond 
it, against an oblong of green water, rocked 
a small yacht’s mast. 


98 


WANDERING HEATH 


He’s down on the yacht there. Shall 
I say you want en ? ” ^ 

‘‘No.” The stranger stepped to the 
quay-door and looked down the ladder. 
On the deck below him stood a man about 
his own age and proportions, fitting a block. 
His flannel shirt hung loosely about a mag- 
nificent pair of shoulders, and was tucked 
up at the sleeves, about the bulge of his huge 
forearms. He wore no cap, and as he 
stooped the light wind puffed back his hair, 
which was gray and fine. 

“Hi, there — William Dendle ! ” 

“ Hullo ! ” The man looked up quickly. 

“ Can you spare a word ? Don’t trouble 
to come up — I’ll climb down to you.” 

He went down the ladder carefully, hug- 
ging the band-box in his left arm. 

“You disremember me, I dessay,” he be- 
gan, as he stood on the yacht’s deck. 

“Well, I do, to be sure. Oughtn’t to, 
though, come to look on your size.” 

“ Samuel Badgery’s my name. You an’ 
me had a hitch to wrestlin’ once, over to 
Tregarrick feast.” 

“Why, o’ course. I mind your features 
now, though ’tis forty years since. We was 
standards there an’ met i’ the last round. 


WRESTLERS 


99 


an’ I got the wust o’t. Terrible hard you 
pitched me, to be sure ; but your sweetheart 
was a-watchin’ ’ee — hey? — wi’ her blue 
eyes. ’ ’ 

Samuel Badgery sat down on deck, with a 
leg on either side of the band-box. 

“ Iss ; she was there, as you say. An’ 
she married me that day month. How do 
you know her eyes were blue ? ’ ’ 

Oh, I dunno. Young men takes notice 
o’ these trifles.” 

She died last week.” 

“Indeed? Pore soul ! ” 

“ An’ she left you this by her will. ’Twas 
hers to leave, for I gave it to her, mysel’, 
when that day’s wrestlin’ was over.” 

He removed the lid of the band-box and 
pulled out two parcels wrapped in a pile 
of tissue-paper. After removing sheet upon 
sheet of this paper he held up two glittering 
objects in the sunshine. The one was a sil- 
ver mug ; the other a leather belt with an 
elaborate silver buckle. 

William Dendle wore a puzzled and some- 
what uneasy look. 

“ I reckon she saw how disappointed I 
was that day,” he said. After a pause ho 
added, “ Women brood over such things, 1 


lOO 


WANDERING HEATH 


b’lieve ; for years, Tm told. ’Tis their un^ 
searchable natur’.” 

“William Dendle, I wish you’d speak 
truth.” 

“ What have I said that’s false? ” 

“ Nuthin ; an’ you’ve said nuthin’ that’s 
true. I charge ’ee to tell me the facts about 
that hitch of our’n.” 

“You’re a hard man, Sam Badgery. I 
hope, though, you’ve been soft to your wife. 

I mind — if you must have the tale — how you 
played very rough that day. There was a 
slim young chap — Nathan Oke, his name 
was — that stood up to you i’ the second 
round. He wasn’ ha’f your match ; you 
might ha’ pitched en flat-handed. An’ yet 
you must needs give en the ‘ flyin’ mare.’ 
Your maid’s face turned lily-white as he 
dropped. Two of his ribs went cr-rk ! 
You could hear it right across the ring. I 
looked at her — she was close beside me — an’ 
saw the tears come ; that’s how I know the 
color of her eyes. Then there was that 
small blacksmith — you dropped en slap on 
the tail of his spine. I wondered if you 
knew the mortal pain o’ bein’ flung that 
way, an’ I swore to mysel’ that if we met i’ 
the last round, you should taste it. 


WRESTLERS 


lOI 


Well, we met, as you know. When I 
was stripped, an’ the folks made way for me 
to step into the ring, I saw her face again. 
’Twas whiter than ever, an’ her eyes went 
over me in a kind o’ terror. I reckon it 
dawned on her that I might hurt you ; but 
I didn’ pay her much heed at the time, for 
I lusted after the prize, an’ I got savage. 
You was standi n’ ready for me, wi’ the 
sticklers about you, an’ I looked you up an’ 
down — a brave figure of a man. You’d 
longer arms than me, an’ two inches to spare 
in height; prettier shoulders, too. I’d never 
clapp’d eyes on. But I guessed myself a 
trifle the deeper an’ a trifle the cleaner i’ the 
matter o’ loins an’ quarters ; an’ I promised 
that I’d outlast ’ee. 

‘‘You got the sun an’ the best hitch, an’ 
after a rough an’ tumble piece o’ work, we 
went down togither, you remember — no fair 
back. The second hitch was just about 
equal ; an’ I gripped up the sackin’ round 
your shoulders an’ held you off, an’ meant 
to keep you off till you was weak. Ten good 
minnits I laboured with ’ee by the stickler’s 
watch, an’ you heaved an’ levered in vain, 
till I heard your breath alter its pace, an’ 
felt the strength tricklin’ out o- you, an’ 


102 


WANDERING HEATH 


knew ’ee for a done man. ‘ Now,’ thinks I, 

‘ half a minnit more, an’ you shall learn 
how the blacksmith felt. ’ I glanced up over 
your shoulder for a moment at the folks i’ 
the ring ; an’ who should my eye light on 
but your girl. 

“ I hadn’t got a sweetheart then, an’ I’ve 
never had one since — never saw another 
woman who could ha’ looked what she 
looked. I was condemned a single man 
there on the spot; an’, what’s more, I was 
condemned to lose the belt. There was 
that ’pon her face that no man is good enow 
to cause ; an’ there was suthin I wanted to 
see instead — just for a moment — that I could 
ha’ given forty silver mugs to fetch up. 

“An’ I looked at her over your shoulders 
wi’ a kind o’ question i’ my face, an’ I did 
fetch it up. The next moment you had 
your chance and cast me flat. When I came 
round — foT you were always an ugly player, 
Sam Badgery — an’ the folks was consolin’ 
me, I gave a look in her direction ; but she 
had no eyes for me at all. She was usin’ 
all her dear deceit to make ’ee think you 
was a hero. So home I went, an’ never set 
eyes ’pon her agen. That’s the tale; an’ I 
didn’t want to tell it. But we’m old gaffers 


WRESTLERS 


103 


both by this time, an’ I coiildn’ make this 
here belt meet round my middle, if I wanted 
to.” 

Sam Badgery straightened his upper lip. 

“ No. I got a call from the Lord a year 
after we was married, an’ gave up wrestlin’. 
My poor wife found grace about the same 
time, an’ since then we’ve been preachers of 
the Word togither for nigh on forty years. 
If our work had lain in Cornwall, I’d have 
sought you out an’ wrestled with you again — 
not in the flesh, but in the spirit. Man, 
I’d have shown you the Kingdom of 
Heaven ! ’ ’ 

Thank ’ee,” answered Dendle; ‘‘but I 
got a glimse o’t once — from your wife.” 

The other stared, failing to understand 
this speech. What puzzled him always an- 
noyed him. He set down the cup and belt 
on the yacht’s deck, shook hands abruptly, 
and hurried back to the inn, where already 
Boutigo was harnessing for the return jour- 
ney. 



THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 


A DOCTOR’S STORY 

“ 0 toiling hands of mortals ! O unwearied 
feet^ travelling ye know not whither ! Soon^ soon, 
it see??is to you, you must C07tie forth 07i some con- 
spicuous hilltop, and but a little way further, 
against the setting sun, descry the spires of El 
Dorado. Little do ye knotu your o%vn blessedness ; 
for to travel hopefully is a better thing than to ar- 
rive, and the true success is to labor." — R. L. 
Stevenson. 

Eucalyptus lies on the eastern slope of 
the Rockies. It will be fourteen years back 
this autumn that the coach dropped me there, 
somewhere about nine in the evening, and 
Hewson, who was waiting, took me straight 
to his red-pine house, high up among the 
foot-hills. The front of it hung over the 
edge of a waterfall, down which Hewson 
sent his logs with a pleasing certainty of 
their reaching Eucalyptus sooner or later ; 
and right at the back the pines climbed 


io6 WANDERING HEATH 

away up to the snow-line. You remember 
the story of Daniel O’Rourke; how an 
eagle carried him up to the moon, and how 
he found it as smooth as an egg-plum, with 
just a reaping-hook sticking out of its side 
to grip hold of? Hewson’s veranda re- 
minded me of that reaping-hook ; and, as a 
matter of fact, the cliff was so deeply under- 
cut that a plummet, if it could be let through 
between your heels, would drop clean into 
the basin below the fall. 

“ The house was none of Hewson’s build- 
ing. Hewson was a bachelor, and could 
have made shift wich a two-roomed cabin 
for himself and his men. He had taken 
the place over from a New Englander, who 
had made his pile by running the lumber- 
ing business up here, and a saw-mill down 
in the valley at the same time. The place 
seemed dog-cheap at the time, but after a 
while it began to dawn upon Hewson that 
the Yankee had the better of the deal. 
Eucalyptus had not come up to early prom- 
ise. In fact it was slipping back and down 
the hill with a run. Already five out of 
its seven big saw -mills were idle and rotting. 
Its original architect had sunk to a blue- 
faced and lachrymose bar-loafer, and the rol’ 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 107 


of plans which he carried about with him — 
with their unrealized boulevards, churches, 
municipal buildings, and band-kiosks — had 
passed into a dismal standing joke. Hewson 
was even now deliberating whether to throw 
up the game or toss good money after bad 
by buying up a saw-mill and running it as 
his predecessor had done. 

“ ‘ It’s like a curse,’ he explained to me 
at breakfast next morning. ‘ The place is 
afflicted like one of those unfortunate South 
Sea potentates, who flourish up to the age of 
fourteen and then cipher out, and not a soul 
to know why. First of all, there’s the lum- 
bering. Well, here’s the timber all right ; 
only Bellefont, farther down the valley, has 
cut us out. Then we had the cinnabar 
mines — you may see them along the slope to 
northward, right over the west end of the 
town. They went well for about sixteen 
months; and then came the stampede. A 
joker in the Bellefont Sentinel wrote that the 
miners up in Eucalyptus were complaining of 
the “ insufficiency of exits; ” and he wasn’t 
far out. Last there were the “Temperate 
Airs and Reinvigorating Pine-odors of Amer- 
ica’s Peerless Sanitorium. Come and be- 
hold Come and be healed I ’ ’ The pro- 


io8 WANDERING HEATH 

moters billed that last cursed jingle up and 
down the States till as far south as Mexico it 
became the pet formula for an invitation 
to drink. Well, for three years we averaged 
something like a couple of hundred invalids, 
and doctors in fair proportion ; and I never 
heard that either did badly. It was an 
error of judgment, perhaps, to start oui* mu- 
nicipal works with a costly Necropolis, or 
rather the gateway of one ; two marble pil- 
lars, if you please — the only stonework in 
Eucalyptus to this day — with Campo ” on 

one side and ‘ ‘ Santo ’ ’ on the other. No 
healthy-minded person would be scared by 
this; but the invalids complained that we’d 
made the feature too salient, and the archi- 
tect has gone ever since by the name of 
Huz and Buz,” bestowed on him by some 
wag who meant Jachin and Boaz,” but 
hadn’t Scripture enough to know it. Any- 
how the temperate airs and pine-odors are a 
frost. There’s nobody, I fancy, living at 
Eucalyptus just now for the benefit of his 
health, and I belive that at this moment 
you’re the only doctor within twenty miles 
of the place.’ 

“‘Well,’ said I, ‘I’ll step down this 
morning anyway, and take a look.’ 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 109 


‘You can saddle the brown horse, when- 
ever you like. You were too sleepy to take 
note of it last night, but you came up here 
by a track fit for a lady’s pony-carriage. 
My predecessor engineered it to connect his 
two places of business. In its way, it’s the 
most palatial thing in the Rockies — two long 
legs with a short tack between, gentle all 
the way — and it brings you out by the Ne- 
cropolis gate. You can hitch the horse up 
there. ’ 

“By ten o’clock I had saddled the 
brown horse, and was walking him down the 
track at an easy pace. Hewson had omitted 
to praise its beauty. Pine-needles lay under- 
foot as thick and soft as a Persian carpet ; 
and what with the pine-tops arching and 
almost meeting overhead, and the red trunks 
raying out left and right into aisles as I went 
by, and the shafts of light breaking the 
greenish gloom here and there with glimpses 
of aching white snowfields high above, ’twas 
like walking in a big cathedral with bits of 
the real heaven shining through the roof. 
The river ran west for a while from Cornice 
House, and then tacked northeast with a 
sudden bend round the base of the foot- 


no 


WANDERING HEATH 


hills ; and since my track formed a sort of 
rough hypotenuse to this angle, I heard the 
voice of the rapids die away and almost 
cease, and then begin again to whisper and 
murmur, until, as I came within a mile or 
so of Eucalyptus, they were loud at my feet, 
though still unseen. I am not a devout 
man, but I can take off my hat now and 
then ; and all the way that morning a cou- 
ple of sentences were ring-dinging in my 
head ; ‘Lift up your hearts ! We lift them 
up unto the Lord ! ’ You know where they 
come from, I dare say. 

“ By and by the track took a sharp and 
steep trend down hill, then a curve ; the 
trees on my right seemed to drop away ; 
and we found ourselves on the edge of a 
steep bluff overhanging the valley, the whole 
eastern slope of which broke full into sight 
in that instant, from the river tumbling be- 
low — by sticking out a leg I could see it 
shining through my stirrup — to the rocky 
aretes and smoothed-out snowfields around 
the peaks. It made a big spectacle, and I 
suppose I must have stared at it till my eyes 
were dazzled, for, on turning again to fol- 
low the track, which at once dived among 
the pines and into the dusk again, I did not 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS iii 


observe, until quite close upon her, a woman 
coming towards me. 

“ And yet she was not rigged out to escape 
notice. She had on a scarlet Garibaldi, a 
striped red-and-white skirt, bunched up be- 
hind into an immense polonaise, and high- 
heeled shoes that tilted her far forward. She 
wore no hat, but carried a scarlet sunshade 
over her shoulder. Her hair, in a tousled 
chignon, was golden, or rather had been 
dyed to that color ; her face was painted ; 
and she was glaringly drunk. 

‘‘ This sudden apparition shook me down 
with a jerk ; and I suppose the sight of 
me had something of the same effect on 
the woman, who staggered to the side of 
the track, and, plumping down amid her 
flounces, beckoned me feebly with her sun- 
shade. I pulled up, and asked what I could 
do for her ? 

“ ‘ You’re the doctor?’ she said slowly, 
with a tight hold on her pronunciation. 

“ ‘ That’s so.’ 

‘ From Cornice House ? ’ 

“ I nodded. 

She nodded back. ‘That’s so. Oh, dear, 
dear ! jw/ said that. I can’t help it. I’m 
drunk, and it’s no use pretending ! ’ 


I 12 


WANDERING HEATH 


‘‘ She fell to wringing her hands, and the 
tears began to run from her bistred eyes. 

“ ‘ Now, see here, Mrs. — Miss ’ 

“ ‘ Floncemorency.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Miss Florence Montmorency ? ’ I haz- 
arded as a translation. 

“ ‘ That’s so. Formerly of the Haughty 
Coal.’ 

beg your pardon? Ah! . 
of the Haute Ecole ? ’ 

‘ That’s so : ' questrienne.’' 

“ < Well, you’ll take my advice, and re- 
turn home at once and put yourself to bed.’ 

“ ‘ Don’t you worry about me. It’s the 
Bishop you’ve got to prescribe for. I al- 
lowed I’d reach Cornice House and fetch 
you down if it took my last breath. Pete 
Stroebel at the drug store told me this 
morning that Mr. Hewson had a doctor 
come to stop with him, so I started right 
along.’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ And how far did you calculate to reach 
in those shoes ? ’ 

‘ 1 didn’t calculate at all ; I just started 
along. If the shoes hurt. I’d have kicked 
hem off and gone without, or maybe 
crawled.’ 

“‘Very good,’ said I. ‘Now, before 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 113 


we go any farther, will you kindly tell me 
who the Bishop is ? ’ 

“ ‘ He’s a young man, and he boards 
with me. See, here, mister,’ she went on, 
pulling herself together and speaking low 
and earnest, ‘ he’s good ; he’s good right 
through : you’ve got to make up your mind 
to that. And he’s powerful sick. But what 
you’ve got to lay hold of is that he’s good. 
The house is No. 67 West Fifteenth Street, 
which is pretty easy to find, seeing it’s the 
only street in Eucalyptus. The rest haven’t 
got beyond paper, and old Huz-and-Buz 
totes them round in his pocket, which isn’t 
good for their growth.’ 

“ ‘ Won’t you take me there ? ’ 

^ Not to-day. I guess I’ve got to sit 
here till I feel better. Another thing is, 
you’ll be doing me a kindness if you don’t 
let on to the Bishop that you found me in 
this — this state. He never saw me like this : 
he’s good, I tell you. And he’d be sick 
and sorry if he knew. I’m just mad with 
myself, too ; but I swear I never meant to 
be like this to-day. I just took a dose to 
fix me up for the journey ; but ever since 
I’ve been holding off from the whiskey the 
least drop gets into my walk. You didn’t 
8 


WANDERING HEATH 


I14 

happen to notice a spring anywhere here- 
abouts, did you ? There used to be one 
that ran right across the track.’ 

passed it about a hundred yards 

back. ’ 

I dismounted and led her to the spring, 
where she knelt and bathed her face in the 
water, cold from the melting snowfields 
above. Then she pulled out a small hand- 
kerchief, edged with cheap lace, and fell to 
dabbing her eyes. 

^ Hullo ! ’ she cried, breaking off sharply. 

^ Yes,’ I answered, ^ you had forgotten 
that. But another wash will take it all off, 
and, if you’ll forgive my saying so, you 
won’t look any the worse. After that you 
shall soak my handkerchief and bandage it 
round your forehead till you feel better. 
Here, let me help.’ 

‘ Thank you,’ she said, as I tied the 
knot. ‘ And now hurry along, please. 
Sixty-seven, West Fifteenth Street. I’ll be 
waiting here with your handkerchief.’ 

I mounted and rode on. At the end of 
half a mile the track began to dip more 
steeply, and finally emerged by a big clear- 
ing and the two marble pillars of which 
Hewson had spoken ; and here I tethered 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 115 


the brown horse, and had a look around be- 
fore walking down into Eucalyptus. With- 
in the clearing a few groups of Norfolk pines 
had been left to stand, and between these 
were burial lots marked out and numbered, 
with here and there a painted wooden cross ; 
but the inhabitants of this acre were few 
enough. Behind and above the ‘ Necrop- 
olis ’ the hill rose steeply ; and there, high 
up, were traces of the disused cinnabar mines 
— patches of orange-colored earth thrusting 
out among the pines. 

‘ ^ The road below the cemetery ran ab- 
ruptly down for a bit, then heaved itself 
over a green knoll and descended upon 
what I may call a very big and flat meadow 
beside the river. It was here that Eucalyp- 
tus stood ; and from the knoll, which was 
really the beginning of the town, I had my 
first good view of it — one long street of low 
wooden houses running eastward to the riv- 
er’s brink, where a few decayed mills and 
wharves straggled to north and south — a T, 
or headless cross, will give you roughly the 
shape of the settlement. From the knoll 
you looked straight along the main street ; 
with a field-gun you could have swept it 
clean from end to end, and, what’s more, you 


WANDERING HEATH 


1 16 

wouldn’t have hurt a soul. The place was 
dead empty — not so much as a cur to sit on 
the sidewalk — and the only hint of life was 
the laughing and banjo playing indoors. 
You could hear that plain enough. Every 
second house in the place was a saloon, and 
every saloon seemed to have a billiard-table 
and a banjo-player. I never heard anything 
like it. I should say, if you divided the 
population into four parts, that two of these 
were playing billiards, one turn - tumming 
‘ Hey, Juliana,’ on the banjo, and the re- 
maining fourth looking on and drinking 
whiskey, and occasionally taking part in the 
chorus. All the way down the sidewalk I 
had these two sounds — the clicks click, of the 
balls and the thrum, thrum, tinkle, tinkle, of 
‘ Juliana ’ — ahead of me, and left silence in 
my wake, as the inhabitants dropped their 
occupations and sauntered out to stare at 
‘ the Last Invalid,’ which was the name 
promptly coined for me by the disheartened 
but still humorous promoters of America’s 
Peerless Sanatorium. 

“You don’t know ‘Juliana’ — neither 
tune nor words ? Nor did I when I set foot 
in Eucalyptus ; but I lived on pretty close 
terms with it for the ne.\t two months, and 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 117 


it ended by clearing me out of the neighbor- 
hood. It was a sort of nigger camp-meet- 
ing song, and a hybrid at that. It went 
something like this : 

“ ‘ de lost ell-aii' -yard is a- huntin' fer de 
morn — 

The lost ell-and-yard is Orion’s sword and 
belt, I may tell you — 

“ ‘ Hey y Juliana^ Juli-he-hi-holy ! 

An' my soziF s done sicken fer de Hallelujah horn, 
HeVy Juliana, Jtili-he-hi-ho ! 

Was it weary there. 

In de wildemtess ? 

Was it weary-y-y, 'way do7vn in Goshen? 

“ ‘ Oh, de children shiver by de Jordan's Jlozv, 

Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-holy ! 

An it's time fer Gaberl to shake hisself an blo7v. 
Hey, Juliana, J uli-he-hi-ho ! 

For it's weary here 
In de zailderness ; 

Oh, it's weary-y-y, '7uay doxun in Goshen!' 

That was the sort of stuff, and it had any 
number of verses. I never heard the end 
of them. Also there were variants — most 
of them unfit for publication. The tune had 
swept up the valley like an epidemic dis- 
ease: and, after a while, it astonished no 
dweller in Eucalyptus to find his waking 


WANDERING HEATH 


1 18 

thoughts and his whole daily converse jig- 
ging to it. But the new-comer was natural- 
ly a bit startled to hear the same strain put 
up from a score of houses as he walked down 
the street. 

“I found the house, No. 67, easily; and 
knocked. It looked neat enough, with a 
fence in front and some pots of flowers in a 
little balcony over the porch, and clean mus- 
lin curtains to the windows. The fence and 
house-front were painted a bright blue, but 
not entirely; for here and there appeared 
patches of green daubed over the blue, much 
as if a child had been around experiment- 
ing with a paint-pot. 

“‘Open the door and come upstairs, 
please,’ said an English voice right over- 
head. And, looking up, I saw a slim young 
man in a minister’s black suit standing 
among the flower-pots and smiling down at 
me. I saw, of course, that this must be my 
patient ; and I knew his complaint too. 
Even at that distance anyone could see he 
was pretty far gone in consumption. 

“ As I climbed the stairs he came in from 
the porch and met me on the landing, at 
the door of Miss Montmorency’s best par- 
lor — a spick-and-span apartment containing 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 119 


a cottage piano, some gilded furniture of the 
Second Empire fashion, a gaudy lithograph 
or two, and a carpet that had to be seen to 
be believed. 

* 1 had better explain,’ said I, ^ that 
this is a professional visit. I met Miss 
Montmorency just outside the town, and 
have her orders to call. I am a medical 
man.’ 

Still smiling pleasantly, he took my 
hand and shook it. 

‘‘ ‘ Miss Montmorency is so very thought- 
ful,’ he said ; then, touching his chest light- 
ly, ‘ it’s true I have some trouble here — 
constitutional, I’m afraid; but I have suf- 
fered from it, more or less, ever since I was 
fourteen, and it doesn’t frighten me. There 
is really no call for your kind offices ; noth- 
ing beyond a general weakness, which has 
detained me here in Eucalyptus longer than 
I intended. But Miss Montmorency, see- 
ing my impatience,, has jumped to the belief 
that I am seriously ill.’ Here he smiled 
again. ‘She is the soul of kindness,’ he 
added. 

“ I looked into his prominent and rather 
nervous eyes. They were as innocent as a 
child’s. Of course there was nothing un- 


120 


WANDERING HEATH 


usual in his hopefulness, which is common 
enough in cases of phthisis — symptomatic, in 
fact; and, of course, I did not discourage 
him. 

^ You have work waiting for you? 
Some definite post? ’ I asked. 

He answered with remarkable dignity; 
he looked a mere boy too. 

‘‘ ‘ I am a minister of the gospel, as you 
guess by my coat : to be precise, a Congre- 
gational minister. At last, I passed through 
a Congregational training college in England. 
But nice distinctions of doctrine will be of 
little moment in the work before me. No, I 
have no definite post awaiting me — that is, I 
have not received a call from any particular 
congregation, nor do I expect one. The 
harvest is over there, across the mountains ; 
and the laborers are never too many. ’ 

It was singular in my experience ; but 
this young man contrived to speak like a 
book without being at all offensive. 

‘I was sent out to America,’ he went 
on, ‘ mainly for my health’s sake ; and the 
voyage did wonders for me. Of course I 
picked up a lot of information on the way 
and in New York. It was there I first heard 
of the awful wickedness of the Pacific Slope, 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 121 


the utter, abandoned godlessness of the min- 
ing camps throughout the golden and silver 
States. I had letters of introduction to one 
or two New England families — sober, relig- 
ious people — and the stories they told of the 
Far West were simply appalling. It was then 
that my call came to me. It came one 
night — But all this has nothing to do 
with my health.’ 

“ ‘ It interests me,’ said I. 

“ ‘ It does one good to talk, if you’re 
sure you mean that,’ he went on, with a 
happy laugh. Then, with sudden gravity: 

‘ It came one night — the clear voice of God 
calling me. I was asleep.; but it woke me, 
and I sat up in bed with the voice still ring- 
ing in my ears like a bugle calling. I knew 
from that moment that my work lay out 
West. I saw that my very illness had been, 
in God’s hands, a means to lead me nearer 
to it. As soon as ever I was strong enough, 
I started ; and you may ihink me fanciful, 
sir, but I can tell you that, as sure as I sit 
here, every step of the way has been 
smoothed for me by the Divine hand. The 
people have been so kind all the way, for I 
am a poor man ; and I have other signs — 
other assurances ’ 


122 


WANDERING HEATH 


He broke off, hesitated, and resumed 
his sentence at the beginning : 

‘ The people have been so kind. I think 
the Americans must be the kindest people in 
the world ; and good too. I cannot believe 
that all the wickedness they talk of out yon- 
der can come from anything but ignorance 
of the Word. I am certain it cannot. And 
that encourages me mightily. Why, down 
in Bellefont they told me that Eucalyptus 
here was a little nest of iniquity ; they spoke 
of it as of some City of the Plain. And 
what have I found ? Well, the people are 
indeed as sheep without a shepherd ; and 
who can wonder, seeing that there is not a 
single House of Prayer kept open in the 
municipality ? There is a great deal of 
coarse levity, and even profanity of speech, 
and, I fear, much immoderate drinking ; but 
these are the effects of blindness rather than 
of wickedness. From the heavier sins — from 
what I may call actual, conscious vice — Eu- 
calyptus is singularly free. Miss Montmo- 
rency, indeed, tells me that in her experience 
(which, of course, is that of a single lady, 
and therefore restricted) the moral tone of 
the town is surprisingly healthy. You un- 
derstand that I give her judgment no more 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 123 


than its due weight. Still, Miss Montmo- 
rency has lived here three years ; and for a 
single lady (and, I may add, the only lady 
in the place) to pass three years in it entire- 
ly unmolested ’ 

‘‘This was too much ; and I interrupted 
him almost at random — 

“ ‘You remind me of the purpose of my 
call. I hope, if only to satisfy Miss Mont- 
morency, you won’t mind my sounding 
your chest and putting a few questions to 
you. ’ 

“ Seeing that I had already pulled out my 
stethoscope, he gave way, feebly protesting 
that it was not worth my trouble. The ex- 
amination merely assured me of that which 
I knew already — that this young man’s days 
were numbered, and the numbers growing 
small. I need not say I kept this to myself. 

“‘You must let me call again to-mor- 
row,’ said I. ‘I’ve a small medicine chest 
up at the Cornice House, and you want a 
tonic badly.’ 

“Upon this he began, with a confused 
look and a slight stammer : ‘ Do you know 
— I’m afraid you will think it rude, but I 
didn’t mean it for rudeness — really. Your 
visit has given me great pleasure ’ 


124 


WANDERING HEATH 


It flashed on me that he had called him- 
self ‘ a poor man. ’ 

‘ I wasn’t proposing to doctor you,’ I 
put in; and it was a shameless lie. ‘You 
may take the tonic or not ; it won’t do 
much harm, anyway. But a gentle walk 
every day among the pines here— the very 
gentlest, nothing to overtax your strength — 
will do more for you than any drugs. But 
if you will let me call, pretty often, and 
have a talk — I’m an Englishman, you know, 
and an English voice is good to hear ’ 

“His face lit up at once. ‘Ah, if you 
would ! ’ said he ; and we shook hands. 

“ As I closed the front door and stepped 
out upon the sidewalk a tall man lounged 
across to me from the doorway of a saloon 
across the road — a lumberer, by his dress. 
He wore a large soft hat, a striped flannel 
shirt open at the neck, a broad leathern 
belt, and muddy trousers tucked into muddy 
wading-boots. His appearance was pictu- 
resque enough without help from his dress. 
He had a mighty length of arm and breadth 
of shoulders ; a handsome, but thin and al- 
most delicately fair, face with blue eyes, 
and a surprisingly well-kept beard. The 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 125 


color of this beard and of his hair — which 
he wore pretty long — was a light auburn. 
Just now the folds of his raiment were full of 
moist sawdust ; and as he came he brought 
the scent of the pine woods with him. 

“ ‘ How’s the Bishop? ’ asked this giant, 
jerking his head towards the little balcony 
of No. 67. 

Before I could hit on a discreet answer 
he followed the question up with another : 

“ ^ What’ll you take ? ’ 

I saw that he had something to say, and 
allowed him to lead the way to a saloon a 
little way down the road. ‘ Simpson’s 
Pioneers’ Symposium ’ w'as the legend above 
the door. A small, pimply-faced man in 
seedy black — whom I guessed at once, and 
correctly, to be ‘ Huz-and-Buz ’ — lounged 
by the bar inside ; and across the counter 
the barkeeper had his banjo slung, and was 
gently strumming the accompaniment of 
‘ Hey, Juliana ! ’ 

‘‘ ‘ Put that down,’ commanded my new 
acquaintance; and then, turning to Huz- 
and-Buz, ‘ Git ! ’ 

“ The architect raised the brim of his hat 
to me, bowed servilely, and left. 

‘ Short or long? ’ 


126 


WANDERING HEATH 


said I would take a short drink. 

< ‘ ^ A brandy sour ? ’ 

^ A“ brandy sour ” will suit me well.’ 

‘‘ He kept his eye for a moment on the 
bartender, who began to bustle around with 
the bottles and glasses; then turned upon 
me. 

“ ‘ Now, then.’ 

** ‘ About the Bishop, as you call him ? ’ 

“ He nodded. 

‘‘ < Well, you’re not to tell him so; but 
he’s going to die.’ 

< Quick ? ’ 

“ ‘ I think so.’ 

He nodded. ‘ I knew that,’ he said, 
and was silent for a minute ; then resumed, 

< No ; he won’t be told. We take an in- 
terest in that young man.’ 

“ ‘ Meaning by we ” ? ’ 

^ The citizens of Eucalyptus as a body. 
My name’s William Anderson : Captain 
Bill they call me. I was one of the first 
settlers in Eucalyptus. I’ve seen it high, 
and I’ve seen it low. And I’m going to be 
the last man to quit; that’s the captain’s 
place. And when I say this or that is pub- 
lic opinion in Eucalyptus, it’s got to be. I 
drink to your health. Doctor.’ 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 127 


‘ Thank you,’ said I. ‘Then I may 
count on your silence? The poor chap is 
so powerfully set on crossing the Rockies 
and getting to close quarters with some real 
wickedness, that to tell him the truth might 
shorten the few days he has left. ’ 

“ Captain Bill smiled grimly. 
“‘Wickedness? Lord love you! He 
couldn’t see any. He’d go through ’Frisco, 
and out at the far end, without so much as 
guessing the place had a seamy side to it. 
His innocence,’ pursued the captain, ‘ is un- 
usual. I guess that’s why we’re taking so 
much care of him. But I must say you’ve 
been spry. ’ 

“ ‘ Upon my word, I can’t at this mo- 
ment make head or tail of the business. I 

met Miss Montmorency on the road ’ 

“ ‘ I guess she was looking like a Mont- 
morency, too. Flyheel Flo is her name 
hereabouts; alluding to her former profes- 
sion of circus-rider. Perhaps Fd better put 
the facts straight for you.’ 

“ ‘ I wish you would.’ 

“ ‘ Well, it’ll be about two months back 
that the Bishop came to Eucalyptus. We 
were most of us here in Simpson’s bar when 
the coach drove up at nine o’clock — ^same 


WANDERING HEATH 


I 28 

time as it dropped you last night — and we 
loafed out to have a look. T'here was only 
one passenger got down ; and he, seemed of 
no account — a weedy-looking youngster with 
a small valise — looked like he might have 
come to be bartender to one of the small 
saloons. It was dark out there, you un- 
derstand: nothing to see by but the lamps 
of the coach and the light of the doorway ; 
besides which the fellow was pretty well 
muffled up in a big coat and wraps. Any- 
way he didn’t seem worth a second look; 
so when the coach moved on we just saun- 
tered back here, and I don’t reckon there 
was a man in the room knew he’d followed 
us till he lifted up that reedy voice of his. 
“ Gentlemen,” he piped out, “would some 
one of you be kind enough to direct me to 
a nice, comfortable lodging?” Old Huz- 
and-Biiz was drinking here with his back 
to the door. “ Great Caesar’s ghost ! ” he 
called out, dropping his glass, “what’n 
thunder’s that? ” — “ Gentlemen,” pipes up 
the young man again, “ I am a stranger, 
this moment arrived by the coach ; and it 
would be a real kindness to direct me to a 
comfortable lodging.” 

By this time he’d unwound the muffler 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 129 


about his neck and unbuttoned his outer 
wraps generally, and we saw he was rigged 
out in genuine sky-pilot’s uniform. We 
hadn’t seen one of that profession in Euca- 
lyptus for more’n two years. ‘‘I’m afraid, 
your reverence,” says one of the boys, mim- 
icking the poor lad’s talk, “ I’m afraid the 
accommodation of this camp will hardly 
reach up to your style. I guess what you 
want is a cosey little nook with a brass 
knocker and a nice motherly woman to 
look after you. You oughter have sent 
the municipality word you was coming.” 
“Thank you,” answers the poor boy, as 
serious as can be; “of course I shall be 
glad of such comforts, but I assure you they 
are not indispensable. I’m an old cam- 
paigner,” he says, drawing himself up to his 
poor little height and smiling proud-like. I 
tell you that knocked the wind out of our 
sails. It was too big to laugh at. W^e just 
stuck for half a minute and looked at him, 
till the mischief put it into old Huz-and- 
Buz’s head to cackle out, “ Better send him 
right along to Flyheel Flo ! ” This put up 
a laugh, and I saw in half a minute that the 
proposition had caught on. It struck me as 
sort of funny, too, at the time; so I steps 


130 


WANDERING HEATH 


forward and says, ‘'I know a lady who’d 
likely take you in and fix you up comfort- 
able. This kind of thing ain’t exactly in 
her line; but no doubt she’ll put herself out 
to oblige a minister, specially if you take 
her a letter of introduction from me. Miss 
Florence Montmorency’s her name, and she 
lives at No. 67 along the street here. Here, 
pass along the ink-bottle and a pen,” I says 
(for, barring Huz-and-Buz, I was about the 
only sinner present that hadn’t forgotten how 
to spell) ; and inside of five minutes I’d fixed 
up the letter to Flo, and a dandy document 
it was ! He took it and thanked me like as 
if it was a school prize; and I guess ’twas 
then it began to break in on me that we’d 
been playing it pretty low on the innocent. 
However, Pete caught up his valise, and two 
or three of us saw him along to Flo’s door, 
and waited out on the sidewalk while he 
knocked. At the second knock Flo came 
down and let him in. I saw him lift his hat, 
and heard him begin with I believe I am 
addressing Miss Montmorency ; ” and what 
Flo was making ready to say in ansAver I’d 
give a dollar at this moment to know. But 
she looked over his shoulder, and with the 
tail of her eye glimpsed us outside, and 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 131 


wasn’t going to show her hand before the 
boys. So, quick as thought, she pulls the 
youngster in, with his valise, and shuts 
the door. 

‘ Well, sir, we cooled our heels outside 
there for a spell, but nothing occurred. So 
at last we made tracks back here to the sa- 
loon, owning to ourselves that Flo didn’t 
need to be taught how to receive a surprise 
party. But,” says I, ‘‘you’ll have the 
minister back here before long ; and I an- 
ticipate he’ll ask questions.” I’d hardly 
said the words before the door flung open 
behind me. It wasn’t the youngster, though, 
but Flo herself ; and a flaming rage she was 
in. “See here, boys,” she begins, “this 
is a dirty game, and you’d better be ashamed 
of yourselves ! I’m ashamed of you. Bill, 
anyway,” she says, tossing me back my let- 
ter ; and then, turning short round on Huz- 
and-Buz, “ if old Iniquity, here, started the 
racket, it’s nateral to him : he had a de- 
cent woman once for his wife, and beat her. 
But there’s others of you oughter know that 
your same reasons for thinking light of a 
woman are reasqns against driving the joke 
too hard.” “You’re right, Flo,” says I, 
“ and I beg your pardon.” “ I dunno that 


132 


WANDERING HEATH 


ril grant it,” she says. “Lord knows,’’ 
she says, “ it ain’t for any of us here to be 
heaving dirt at each other ; but I will say 
you oughter be feeling mean, the way 
you’ve served that young man. Why, 
boys,” she says, opening her eyes wide, like 
as if ’twas a thing unheard of, “ he’s 
good! And oh, boys, he’s sick, too!” 
“Is he so?” I says; “I feel cheap.” 
“You oughter,” says she. “What’s to be 
done?” says I. “Well, the first thing,” 
she says, “ that you’ve got to do is to come 
right along and paint my fence;” then, 
seeing I looked a bit puzzled — “ some of 
you boys have taken the liberty to write up 
some pretty free compliments about my 
premises ; and as the most of you was born 
before spelling-bees came in fashion, I don’t 
want my new boarder to come down to-mor- 
row and form his own opinion about your 
education.” Well, sir, we went off in a 
party and knocked up old Peter, and got a 
pot of paint, and titivated No. 67 by the 
light of a couple of lanterns ; and the Bishop 
— as we came to call him — sleeping the sleep 
of the just upstairs all the time, ^///fortu- 
nately, Peter had made a mistake and given 
us green paint instead of blue, and by that 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 133 

light none of us could tell the difference ; 
so I guess the Bishop next morning allowed 
that Miss Montmorency had ideas of her own 
on ‘Mnural decoration,” as Huz-and-Buz 
calls it. When we got the job fixed, Flo 
steps inside the gate, and says she, looking 
over it, “ Boys, I’m grateful. And now I’m 
going to play a lone hand, and I look to you 
not to interfere. Good-night.” From that 
day to this, sir, she’s kept straight, and held 
off the drink in a manner you wouldn’t 
credit. The Bishop, he thinks her an angel 
on earth; and to see them promenading 
down the sidewalk arm-in-arm of an after- 
noon is as good as a dime exhibition. I’m 
bound to own the boys act up. You wait till 
you see her pass, and the way the hats fly 
off. Old Huz-and-Buz came pretty near to 
getting lynched the first week, for playing 
the smarty and drawling off out as they went 
by, “Miss Montmorency, I believe?” to 
imitate the way in which the Bishop intro- 
duced himself I guess he won’t be humor- 
ous again for a considerable spell. And now. 
Doctor, I hope I’ve put the facts straight for 
you ? ^ 

“‘You have,’ I answered, draining my 
glass; ‘ and they do several people credit.’ 


134 


WANDERING HEATH 


‘ Wait a bit. You haven’t heard what 
I’m coming to. That young man is poor.’ 

‘‘ ‘ So I gather.’ 

‘ And I’m speaking now in the name of 
the boys. There was a meeting held just 
now, while you was dropping your card on 
the Bishop ; and I’m to tell you, as deputy, 
that trouble ain’t to be spared over him. It’s 
a hopeless case ; but you hear — trouble ain’t 
to be spared ; and the municipality foots 
the ’ 

‘‘ ‘ Hold hard, there,’ I broke in ; and 
told him how the land lay. When I’d done 
he held out a huge but well-shaped hand, 
palm upward. 

‘ Put it there,’ he said. 

<‘We shook hands, and walked together 
(still to the strain of ‘ Juliana ’) as far as the 
Necropolis gate. I observed that several 
citizens appeared at the doors of the saloons 
along our route, and looked inquiringly at 
Captain Bill, who answered in each case with 
a wink. 

‘ That passes you,’ he explained, ‘ for 
the freedom of Eucalyptus City, as you’d say 
at home. When you want it, you’ve only 
to come and fetch it — in a pail. You’re 
among friends.’ 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 135 


He backed up this assurance by shaking 
my hand a second time, and with great fer- 
vor. And so we parted. 

As I neared the spring on my homeward 
road I saw Miss Montmorency standing be- 
side the track, awaiting me. She looked 
decidedly better, and handed me back my 
handkerchief, almost dry and neatly folded. 

‘ ‘ ‘ And how did you find him ? ’ she asked. 

‘‘ I told her. 

‘ We allowed it was that — the boys and 
I. We allowed he wouldn’t last out the fall. 
Did you meet any of the boys ? ’ 

“ ‘I’ve been having a short drink and a 
long talk with Captain Bill.’ 

“ She nodded her head, breaking off to 
clap both palms to her temples. 

“ ‘ My ! It does ache ! I’m powerful glad 
you seen Bill. Now you know the worst o’ 
me, and we can start fair. I allowed, first 
along, that I play this hand alone ; but now 
you’ve got to help. Now and then I catch 
myself weakening. It’s dreadful choky, sit- 
ting by the hour filling up that poor innocent 
with lies. And the eyes of him ! ’ (she 
stamped her foot) : ‘ I could whip his father 
and mother for having no more sense than to 
let him start. Doctor, you’ll have to help.’ 


136 


WANDERING HEATH 


I rode down to Eucalyptus again next 
morning and found the Bishop seated and 
talking with Miss Montmorency in the gaudy 
little parlor. 

“‘We were just going out for a walk 
together,’ he explained, as we shook hands. 

“ ‘ And now you’ll just have to walk out 
with the Doctor instead ; and serve you 
right for talking foolishness.’ She moved 
toward the door. 

“ ‘ Doctor,’ he said, ‘I wish you would 
make her listen. I feel much better to-day 
— altogether a different man. If this im- 
provement continues, I shall start in a week 
at the furthest. And I was trying to tell 
her — Doctor, you can have no notion of her 
goodness. “I was a stranger and she took 
me in ” ’ 

“ Miss Montmorency, with her hand on 
the door, turned sharply round at this, 
and shot a queer sort of look at me. I 
thought she was going to speak ; but she 
didn’t. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Excuse me, ’ I said to the Bishop, as 
the door closed, ‘ but that’s your Bible, I 
take it, on the table yonder. May I have it 
for a moment ? ’ 

“ I picked it up and followed Miss Mont- 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 137 


morency, whom I found just outside on the 
landing. 

‘ What’s the meaning of it?’ she de- 
manded, very low and fierce. 

‘I guessed that text had jerked you a 
bit. No, I haven’t given you away. He 
was talking out of the Bible.’ I found the 
place for her. ^ You’d better take it to 
your room and read the whole passage,’ said 
I, and went back to the parlor. 

‘‘ ‘ I have lent your Bible to Miss Mont- 
morency,’ I said. 

“ The Bishop seemed lost in thought, but 
made no remark until we were outside the 
house and starting for our short walk. Then 
he laid a hand on my arm. ‘ Forgive me,’ 
he said ; ^ I had no idea you were earnest in 
these matters.’ I was for putting in a dis- 
claimer, but he went on : 

^ She has a soul to save — a very precious 
soul. Mark you, if works could save a 
soul, hers would be secure. And I have 
thought sometimes God cannot judge her 
harshly; for consider of how much value 
the life of one such woman must be in such 
a community as this. You should observe 
how the men respect her. And yet we have 
the divine assurance that works without 


138 WANDERING HEATH 

grace are naught ; and her carelessness on 
sacred matters is appalling. If, when I am 
gone ’ — and it struck me sharply that not 
only the western mountains but the ceme- 
tery gate lay in the direction of his nod, 
and that the gate lay nearer — ‘ if you could 
speak to her now and then — ah, you can 
hardly guess how it would rejoice me some 
day when I return, bearing ’ — and his voice 
sank here — ‘ bearing, please God, my sheaves 
with me ! ’ 

“ ‘ But why,’ I urged, ^ go farther, when 
work like this lies at your hand ? ’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ I have thought of that ; but only for 
a moment. It may sound presumptuous to 
you ; I am very young ; but there is bigger 
work for me ahead, and I am called. I can- 
not argue about this. I know. I have a 
sign. Look up at the mountain yonder — 
high up, above the quicksilver mines. Do 
you see those bright lights flashing ? ’ 

Sure enough, above the disused works a 
line of sparkling lights led the eye upward 
to the snowfields, as if traced in diamonds. 
The phenomenon was certainly astonishing, 
and I couldn’t account for it. 

“ ‘ You see it? Ah ! but you didn’t ob- 
serve it till I spoke. Nobody does. Miss 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 139 


Montmorency, when I pointed it out, de- 
clared that in all the time she has lived here 
she never once noticed it. Yet the first 
night I came here I saw it. My window 
looks westward, and I pulled the curtain 
aside for a moment before getting into bed. 
It had been dark as pitch when the coach 
dropped me ; but now the moon was up, 
over opposite ; and the first thing my eyes 
lit on was this line of lights reaching up 
the mountain. When I woke, next morn- 
ing, it was still there, flashing in the sun. I 
think it was at breakfast, when I asked Miss 
Montmorency about it, and found she’d 
never remarked it, that it first came into my 
head ’twas meant for me. Anyway, the 
idea’s fixed there now, and I can’t get away 
from it. I’ve asked many people, and 
there’s not one can explain it, or has ever 
remarked it till I pointed it out.’ 

^‘His hand trembled on his stick, and a 
fit of coughing shook him. While we stood 
still I heard a banjo in a saloon across the 
road tinkle its long descent into the chorus 
of ^Juliana’ — 

“ ‘ IVas it weary there 
In the wilderness ? 

Was it weary-y-y^ 'way down in Goshen?' 


140 WANDERING HEATH 

The chorus came roaring out and across the 
street ; ceased ; and the banjo slid into the 
next verse. 

“ ‘ I wish they wouldn’t/ said the Bishop, 
taking the handkerchief from his lips and 
speaking (as 1 thought) rather peevishly. 

‘ It’s a weariful tune.’ 

‘‘‘Is it? Now I don’t know anything 
about music. It’s the words that make me 
feel wisht.’ 

“‘And now,’ said I, ‘you’ve eased my 
soul of the curiosity that has been vexing it 
for twenty-four hours. Your voice told you 
were English ; but there was something in 
it besides — something almost rubbed out, if 
I may say so, by your training for the min- 
istry. I was wondering what part of Eng- 
land you hailed from, and I meant to find 
out without asking. You’ll observe that as 
yet I don’t even know your name. But 
Cornwall’s your birthplace.’ 

“‘I suppose,’ he answered, smiling, 
‘ you’ve only heard me called “ the Bishop.” 
Yes, you’re quite right. I come from the 
north of Cornwall — from Port Isaac ; and 
my name’s Penno — John Penno. I used to 
be laughed at for it at the Training College, 
and for my Cornish talk. They said it 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 141 


would be a hindrance to me in the ministry, 
so I worked hard to overcome it.’ 

“ ‘1 know Port Isaac. At least, I once 
spent a couple of days there. ’ 

“ ‘ Ah ? ’ He turned on me eagerly — with 
a sob, almost. ‘ You will have seen my 
folks, maybe ? My father’s a fisherman 
there — Hezekiah Penno — Old Ki, he’s al- 
ways called : everyone knows him.’ 

shook my head. ‘The only fisher- 
man I knew at all was called Tregay. He 
took me out after the pollack one day in his 
boat, the Little Mercy.’ 

!i “ ‘ That will be my mother’s brother Israel. 

" He named the boat after a sister of mine. 

1 She’s grown up now and married, and set- 
I tied at St. Columb. This is wonderful ! 

1 And how was Israel wearing when you saw 
‘ him?’ 


“ ‘ You have later news of him than I can 
give. I am speaking of ten years ago.’ 

“His face fell pathetically; but he con- 
trived a rueful little laugh as he answered : 
‘ And I must have been a boy of nine at the 
time, and playing about Portissick Street, no 
doubt ! Never mind. It’s good, anyway, 
to speak of home to you ; for you’ve see/i it, 
you know.’ 


142 


WANDERING HEATH 


“ He said this with his eyes fixed on the 
flashing mountain ; and, as he finished, he 
sighed. 

“ During the next three or four days — for 
a relapse followed his rally, and he had to 
give up all thought of departing imme- 
diately — I talked much with the Bishop ; and 
I think that each talk added to my respect 
and wonder. In the first place, though I 
had read in a good many poetry books of 
maidens who walked through all manner of 
deadliness unhurt — Una and the lion, you 
know, and the rest of them — I hadn’t im- 
agined that kind or amount of innocence in 
a young man. But what startled me even 
more was the size of his ambitions. ‘ Bishop’ 
— in partibus infidelium with a vengeance — 
was too small a title for him. ’Twas a Peter 
the Hermit’s part, or a Savonarola’s, or 
Whitefield’s at least, he was going to play 
all along the Pacific Slope; and his outfit 
no more than a small Bible and the strength 
of a mouse. And with all this the poor boy 
was just wearying for home, and every small 
fibre in his sick heart pulling him back while 
he fixed his eyes on the lights up the moun- 
tain, and stiffened his back and talked about 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 143 


putting a hand to the plough and not turn- 
ing back. 

‘Hewson,’ I said one morning, as we 
were breakfasting at the Cornice House, 
‘ what’s the cause of those curious lights up 
by the cinnabar mines, over Eucalyptus ? ’ 

^‘‘Lights?’ said he, ‘what lights? I 
never heard of any.’ 

“ ‘Well, it’s something that flashes, any- 
way — a regular line of it.’ 

“ ‘I’ll tell you what it’s itot ; and that’s 
quicksilver,’ Hewson answered. 

“On my way down to Eucalyptus early 
that morning, I hitched my horse up to the 
Necropolis gate and determined to explore 
the secret of the lights before visiting the 
Bishop. The track toward the cinnabar 
works was pretty easy to follow, first along ; 
but when I had climbed some four or five 
hundred feet it grew fainter, and was -lost 
at length under the pine-needles. Luckily 
some hand had notched a tree here and 
there, and these guided me to the dry bed 
of a torrent, on the far side of which the 
track reappeared, and continued pretty plain 
for the rest of the journey, though broken 
in several places by the rains. I had missed 
my way three times at the most ; but it took 


144 


WANDERING HEATH 


me three-quarters of an hour to reach the 
lowest of the works, and another twenty 
minutes to get into anything like clear coun- 
try. At length, on the edge of a steep de- 
pression that widened and shallowed as it 
neared the valley, I got a fair look up the 
slope. So far I had met nothing to account 
for the lights — nothing at all, in fact, but the 
broken spade-handles, old boots, empty 
meat-cans, and other refuse of the miners’ 
camps ; but every now and then I would 
catch a glimpse of the hillside high over- 
head : and always those lights were flashing 
there, though in varying numbers. Now, 
having a clear view, I found to my dismay 
that they had shrunk to one. It was like a 
a story in the Arabian Nights. I swore, 
though, that I would not be cheated of this 
last chance. The flashing object, whatever 
it was, lay some two hundred yards above 
me on the slope ; and I approached cautious- 
ly, with my eyes fixed on it, much like a 
child hunting grasshoppers in a hayfield. I 
was less than ten paces from it when the 
light suddenly vanished, and five paces more 
knocked the bottom out of the mystery. 
The object was a battered and empty meat- 
can. 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 145 


'^Ihad passed a hundred such, at least, 
on my way. The camps had lain pretty 
close to the track, and the rains descending 
upon their refuse heaps had washed the 
labels off these cans, that now, as sun and 
moon rose and passed over the mountain- 
side, flashed moving signals down to Euca- 
lyptus in the valley — signals of failure and 
desolation. And these had been the Bish- 
op’s pillar of fire in the wilderness. 

“ ‘ IVas it weary ^ then. 

In the wilderness ? ' 

I turned and went down the track. 

At the Necropolis gate I found Captain 
Bill standing, with a heavy and puzzled 
face, beside my horse. 

‘ I was stepping up to Cornice House ; 
but found your nag here, and concluded to 
wait. I’ve been waiting the best part of an 
hour. What in thunder have you been do- 
ing with yourself? ’ 

^ Prospecting,’ said I. ^ What’s the 
news ? Anything wrong with the Bishop ? ’ 
“ ‘ There’s nothing wrong with him ; and 
won’t be any more. He broke a blood- 
vessel in the night. Flo looked in early this 


10 


146 


WANDERING HEATH 


morning, and found him sleeping, as she 
thought. An hour later she took him a cup 
of tea, and was putting it down on the table 
by the bed, when she saw blood on the pil- 
low. She’s powerful upset.’ 

Two days later — the morning of the 
funeral — I met Captain Bill at the entrance 
of the town. He held the Bishop’s small 
morocco-bound Bible in his hand ; but for 
excellent reasons had made no change in his 
work-day attire. 

“ ‘ You’re attending, of course ? ’ was his 
greeting. ‘ Say, would you like to conduct ? 
It lay between me and Huz-’n’-Buz, and he 
was for tossing up ; but I allowed he was 
altogether too hoary a sinner. So we made 
him chief mourner instead, along with Flo — 
the more by token that he’s the only citizen 
with a black coat to his back. As for Flo, 
she’s got to attend in colors, having cut up 
her only black gown to nail on the casket 
for a covering. Foolishness, of course ; 
but she was set on it. But see here, you’ve 
only to say the word, and I’ll resign to 
you.’ 

“I declined, and suggested that for two 
reasons he was the man to conduct the ser- 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 147 


vice : first, as the most prominent inhabi- 
tant of Eucalyptus ; and secondly, as having 
made himself in a way responsible for the 
Bishop from the first. 

‘ As you like,’ said he. ‘I told him 
that first night, that I’d see him through ; 
and I will.’ 

He eyed the Bible dubiously. ^ It’s 
pretty small print,’ he added. ‘I suppose 
it’s all good, now ? ’ 

‘ If you mean that you’re going to open 
the book and read away from the first full- 
stop you happen to light on’ 

^ That’s what I’d planned. You don’t 
suppose, do you, I’ve had time since Tues- 
day to read all this through and skim off the 
cream ? ’ 

‘ Then you’d better let me pick out a 
chapter for you. ’ 

As I took the Bible something fluttered 
from it to the ground. Captain Bill stooped 
and picked it up. 

“ ‘That’s pretty, too,’ he said, handing it 
to me. 

“ It was a little bookmarker, worked in 
silk, with one pink rose, the initials M. P. 
(for Mercy Penno, no doubt), and under 
these the favourite lines that small west-coun- 


148 


WANDERING HEATH 


try children in England embroider or their 
samplers : 

“ ‘ Rose leaves smell 
When roses thrive : 

Here's my work 

When I'm alive. 1 

Rose leaves smell \ 

When shrunk and shred : 

Here's my work 

When I am dead.' \ 

<< I turned to the fifteenth chapter of the | 
first Epistle to the Corinthians ; showed the 
captain where to begin ; and laid the book- 
marker opposite the place. 

‘‘We walked a few paces together as far 
as the green knoll that I have described as 
overhanging Eucalyptus, and there I halted ^ 
to wait for the funeral, while Captain Bill i 
went on to the Necropolis to make sure that ; 
the grave was ready and all arrangements i 
complete. The procession was not due to 
start for another quarter of an hour, so I i 
found a comfortable bowlder and sat down ; 
to smoke a pipe. Right under me stretched | 
the deserted main street, and in the hush of 
the morning — it was just the middle of the 1 
Indian summer, and the air all sunny and 
soft — I could hear the billiard-balls click- j 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 149 


click - clicking as usual, and the players’ 
voices breaking in at intervals, and the ban- 
joes tinkling away down the street from sa- 
loon to saloon. These and the distant chat- 
ter of the river were all the sounds ; and 
the river’s chatter seemed hardly so persist- 
ent and monotonous as the voices of the 
saloons and the unceasing question — 

“ ‘ Was it weary there ^ 

In the wilderness ? 

Was it weary-y-y^ 'way down in Goshen ? ' 

Suddenly, far down the street, there 
was a stir, and from the door of No. 67 half 
a dozen men came staggering out into the 
sunshine under a black coffin, which they 
carried shoulder high; and behind came 
two figures only — those of Miss Montmo- 
rency and the architect — arm in arm. The 
bearers wheeled round, got into step after 
one or two attempts, and the procession 
advanced. 

‘‘ And I observed, as it advanced, that a 
hush came slowly with it, closing on The 
click of the balls and the strumming of the 
banjoes, as from saloon after saloon the play- 
ers stepped out and fell in at the tail of the 
procession. Gradually these noises were 


WANDERING HEATH 


150 

penned into the three or four saloons imme- 
diately beneath me; and then these, too, 
were silenced, and the mourners began to 
climb the hill. 

I did not attend the funeral after all. 
I rose and stood hat in hand as it climbed 
past-:— the coffin, the one woman, and the 
many men. It was grotesque enough. Flo 
had on the same outrageous costume she had 
worn at our first meeting ; but a look at the 
black drapery of the coffin sanctified that. 
One mourner, in pure absence of mind, had 
brought along his billiard-cue as a walking- 
stick ; and every now and then would step 
out of the ranks and distribute whacks 
among the five or six dogs that frisked 
alongside the procession. But I read on 
every face the consciousness that Eucalyp- 
tus was doing its duty. 

“ So they climbed past and up to the 
Necropolis, and filed in between its two pil- 
lars. I could see among the pines a group 
or two standing, with bent heads, and Cap- 
tain Bill towering beside the grave ; at times 
I heard his voice lifted, but could not catch 
the words. Down in the town for a while 
all w'as silent as death. Then in a saloon 
below some boy — left behind, no doubt, to 


THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS 151 


look after the house — took up a banjo and 
began to pick out slowly and with one fin- 
ger the tune of ‘ ’Way down upon the Swan- 
nee River/ and as it went I fitted the words 
to it : 

“ ''All the world is sad and dreary 
Everywhere I roam. 

Oh, br udders, horu my heart grows 7veary' . . . 

The tune ceased. The only sound now 
came from a robin, hunting about the turf 
and now and then breaking out into an im- 
patient twitter. 

‘ ‘ T'he silence was broken at length by the 
footsteps of the mourners returning. They 
went down the hill almost as decorously as 
they had gone up. Flo stepped aside and 
came toward me. 

‘‘ ‘ Let me stay beside you for a bit. 1 
can’t go back there — yet.’ 

‘‘This was all she said; and we stood 
there side by side for minutes. Soon the 
tinkle of a banjo came up to us, and a pair 
of billiard-balls clicked ; then a second ban- 
jo joined in ; and gradually, as the stream 
of citizens trickled back and spread, so like 
a stream the sound of clicking billiard-balls 
and tinkling banjoes trickled back and 


152 


WANDERING HEATH 


spread along the main street of Eucalyptus 
City. 

“ ‘ For it's weary here 

In de wilderness' . , . 

Flo looked at me and put out a hand ; 
but drew it back before I could take it. 
And so, without another word, she w'ent 
down the hill.” 


WIDDERSHINS 


A DROLL 

Once upon a time there was a small farmer 
living in Wendron parish, not far from the 
church-town. ’Thaniel Teague was his 
name. This Teague happened to walk into 
Helston on a Furry -day,* when the Mayor 
and townspeople dance through the streets 
to the Furry-tune. In the evening there was 
a grand ball given at the Angel Hotel, and 
the landlord very kindly allowed Teague — 
who had stopped too late as it was — to look 
in through the door and watch the gentry 
dance the Lancers. 

Teague thought he had never seen any- 
thing so heavenly. What with one hin- 
drance and another ’twas past midnight be- 
fore he reached home, and then nothing 
would do for him but he must have his wife 
and six children out upon the floor in their 
* Flora-day, May 8th. 


154 


WANDERING HEATH 


night-clothes, practising the Grand Chain 
while he sang — 

“ Out of my stony grief s 
Bethel I'll raise ! ” 

The seventh child, the babby, they set 
down in the middle of the floor, like a nine- 
pin. And the worst of it was, the poor mite 
twisted his eyes so, trying to follow his mam- 
my round and round, that he grew up with a 
cast from that hour. 

’Tis of this child — Joby he was called — 
that I am going to tell you. Barring the cast, 
he grew up a very straight lad, and in due 
time began to think upon marrying. His 
father’s house faced south, and as it came 
easier to him to look north-west than any 
other direction, he chose a wife from Gwinear 
parish. His elder brothers had gone off to 
sea for their living, and his sister had mar- 
ried a mine-captain : so when the old people 
died, Joby took over the farm and worked it, 
and did very well. 

Joby’s wife was very fond of him, though 
of course she didn’t like that cast in his 
looks : and in many ways ’twas inconvenient 
too. If the poor man ever put hand on 


WIDDERSHINS 


155 


plough to draw a straight furrow, round to 
the north ’t would work as sure as a compass- 
needle. She consulted the doctors about it, 
and they did no good. Then she thought 
about consulting a conjurer ; but being a 
timorous woman as well as not over-wise, she 
put it off for a while. 

Now, there was a little fellow living over 
to Penryn in those times. Tommy Warne by 
name, that gave out he knew how to conjure. 
Folks believed in him more than he did 
himself : for, to tell truth, he was a lazy 
shammick, who liked most ways of getting a 
living better than hard work. Still, he was 
generally made pretty welcome at the farm- 
houses round, for he could turn a hand to 
anything and always kept the maids laughing 
in the kitchen. One morning he dropped in 
on Farmer Joby and asked for a job to earn 
his dinner ; and Joby gave him some straw 
to spin for thatching. By dinner-time Tom 
had spun two bundles of such very large size 
that the farmer rubbed- his chin when he 
looked at them. 

Why,” says he, ‘‘ I always thought you 
a liar — I did indeed. But now I believe you 
can conjure, sure enough.” 

As for Mrs. Joby, she was so much pleased 


WANDERING HEATH 


156 

that, though she felt certain the devil must 
have had a hand in it, she gave Tom an 
extra helping of pudding for dinner. 

Some time after this, Farmer Joby missed 
a pair of pack-saddles. Search and ask as 
he might, he couldn’t find out who had 
stolen them, or what had become of them. 

“Tommy Warne’s a clever fellow,” he 
said at last. “ I must see if he can tell me 
anything.” So he walked over to Penryn 
on purpose. 

Tommy was in his doorway smoking when 
Farmer Joby came down the street. “ So 
you’m after they pack-saddles,” said he. 

“ Why, how ever did you know? ” 

“ That’s my business. Will it do if you 
find ’em after harvest ? ” 

“ To be sure ’twill. I only want to know 
where they be. ’ ’ 

“ Very well, then ; after harvest they’ll 
be found.” 

Home the farmer went. Sure enough, 
after harvest, he w^ent to unwind Tommy’s 
two big bundles of straw-rope for thatching 
the mow, and in the middle of each was one 
of his missing pack-saddles. 

“Well, now,” said Joby’s wife, “that 
fellow must have a real gift of conjurin’ ! 


WIDDERSHINS 


157 


I wonder, my dear, you don’t go and con- 
sult him about that there cross eye of 
yours.” 

I will, then,” said Joby ; and he walked 
over to Penryn again the very next market- 
day. 

^ Cure your eyes,’ is it ? ” said Tommy 
Warne. “ Why, to be sure I can. Why 
didn’t you ax me afore? I thought you 
liked squintin’ . ’ ’ 

I don’t, then ; I hate it.” 

‘‘Very well; you shall see straight this 
very night if you do what I tell you. Go 
home and tell your wife to make your bed 
on the roof of the four-poster ; and she must 
make it widdershins,* turnin’ bed-tie and 
all against the sun, and puttin’ the pillow 
where the feet come as a rule. That’s 
all.” 

“ Fancy my never thinkin’ of anything so 
simple as that ! ” said Joby. He went 
home and told his wife. She made his bed 
on the roof of the four-poster, and widder- 
shins, as he ordered ; and they slept that 
night, the wife as usual, and Joby up close 
to the rafters. 

But scarcely had Joby closed an eye be- 
* From S. to N. , through E. 


WANDERING HEATH 


158 

fore there came a rousing knock at the door, 
and in walked Joby’s eldest brother, the sea- 
captain, that he hadn’t seen for years. 

‘‘ Get up, Joby, and come along with me 
if you want that eye of yours mended.” 

“ Thank you, Sam, it’s curin’ very easy 
and nice, and I hope you won’t disturb 
me.” 

If ’tis Tommy Warne’s cure you’re try- 
ing, why then I’m part of it; so you’d best 
get up quickly.” 

“Aw, that’s another matter, though you 
might have said so at first. I’d no notion 
you and Tommy was hand-’n-glove.” 

Joby rose up and followed his brother out 
of doors. He had nothing on but his night- 
shirt, but his brother seemed in a hurry, and 
he didn’t like to object. 

They set their faces to the road and they 
walked and walked, neither saying a word, 
till they came to Penryn. There was a fair 
going on in the town; swing-boats and 
shooting-galleries and lillybanger standings, 
and naphtha lamps flaming, and in the 
middle of all, a great whirly-go-round, with 
striped horses and boats, and a steam-organ 
playing “Yankee Doodle.” As soon as 
they started Joby saw that the whole thing 


WIDDERSHINS 


159 


was going around widdershins ; and his 
brother stood up under the naphtha-lamp 
and pulled out a sextant and began to take 
observations. 

“ What’s the latitude? ” asked Joby. He 
felt that he ought to say something to his 
brother, after being parted all these years. 

Decimal nothing to speak of,” answered 

Sam. 

“ Then we ought to be nearing the Line,” 
said Joby. He hadn’t noticed the change, 
but now he saw that the boat they sat in 
was floating on the sea, and that Sam had 
stuck his walking-stick out over the stern 
and was steering. 

“ What’s the longitude ? ” asked Joby. 

“ That doesn’t concern us.” 

“ ’Tis west o’ Grinnidge, I suppose?” 
Joby knew very little about navigation, and 
wanted to make the most of it. 

‘‘ West o’ Penryn,” said Sam, very sharp 
and short. ’Twasn’ Grinnidge Fair we 
started from.” 

But presently he sings out Here we are ! ” 
and Joby saw a white line, like a popping- 
crease, painted acro.ss the blue sea ahead of 
them. First he thought ’twas paint, and 
then he thought ’twas catgut, for when the 


i6o WANDERING HEATH 

keel of their boat scraped over it, it sang 
like a bird. 

^‘That was the Equator,” said Sam. 

Now let’s see if your eyes be any better.” 

But when Joby tried them, what was his 
disappointment to find the cast as bad as 
ever ? — only now they were slewing right 
the other way, towards the South Pole. 

I never thought well of this cure from 
the first,” declared Sam. “ For my part, 
I’m sick and tired of the whole business ! ” 
And with that he bounced up from the 
thwart and hailed a passing shark and walked 
down its throat in a huff, leaving Joby all 
alone on the wide sea. 

There’s nice brotherly behaviour for 
you,” said Joby to himself. Lucky he 
left his walking-stick behind. The best 
thing I can do is to steer along close to the 
Equator, and then I know where I am.” 

So he steered along close to the Line, and 
by and by he saw something shining in the 
distance. When he came nearer, ’twas a 
great gilt fowl stuck there with its beak to 
the Line and its wings sprawled out. And 
when he came close, ’twas no other than 
the cock belonging to the tower of his own 
parish church of Wendron ! 


WIDDERSHINS 


i6i 


“Well! ” said Joby, “one has to travel 
to find out how small the world is. And 
what might you be doin’ here, naybour ? ” 
“Is that you, Joby Teague? Then I’ll 
thank you to do me a good turn. I came 
here in a witch-ship last night, and the crew 
put this spell upon me because I wouldn’t 
pay my footing to cross the Line. A nice 
lot, to try and steal the gilt off a church 
weather-cock! ’Tis ridiculous,” said he, 
“ but I can’t get loose for the life o’ me ! ” 
“Why, that’s as easy as A B C,” said 
Joby. “ You’ll find it in any book of par- 
lour amusements. You take a fowl, put its 
beak to the floor, and draw a chalk line 

away from it, right and left ” 

Joby wetted his thumb, smudged out a bit 
of the Equator on each side of the cock’s 
nose, and the bird stood up and shook him- 
self. 

“And now is there anything I can do for 
you, Joby Teague? ” 

“To be sure there is. I’m getting com- 
pletely tired of this boat : and if you can 
give me a lift. I’ll take it as a favour.” 

“ No favour at all. Where shall we go 
visit ? — the Antipodes ? ’ ’ 

“No thank you,” said Joby. “I’ve 


i 62 


WANDERING HEATH 


heard tell they get up an’ do their business 
when we honest folks be in our beds : and 
that kind o’ person I never could trust. 
Squint or no squint, Wendron’s Wendron, 
and that’s where I’m comfortable.” 

“ Well, it’s no use loitering here, or we 
may get into trouble for what we’ve done to 
the Equator. Climb on my back,” said 
the bird, “ and home we go ! ” 

It seemed no more than a flap of the 
wings, and Joby found himself on his friend’s 
back on one of the pinnacles of Wendron 
Church and looking down on his own farm. 

“Thankin’ you kindly, soce, and now I 
think I’ll be goin’,” said he. 

“ Not till I’ve cured your eyesight, Joby,” 
said the polite bird. 

Joby by this time was wishing his eyesight 
to botheration ; but before he could say a 
word, a breeze came about the pinnacles, 
and he was spinning around on the cock’s 
back — spinning around widdershins — clutch- 
ing the bird’s neck and holding his breath. 

“And now,” the cock said, as they came 
to a standstill again, “ I think you can see a 
hole in a ladder as well as any man.” 

Just then the bells in the tower below 
them began to ring merrily. 


WIDDERSHINS 


163 


Said Joby, What’s that for, I wonder? ” 

“It looks to me,” said the cock, “as if 
your wife was gettin’ married again.” 

Surely enough, while the bells rang, Joby 
saw the door of his own house open, and his 
own wife come stepping towards the church, 
leaning on a man’s arm. And who should 
that man be but Tommy Warne? 

“And to think I’ve lived fifteen years 
with that woman, and never lifted my hand 
to her ! ’ ’ 

Said the bird, “ The wedding is fixed, 
for eleven o’clock, and ’tis on the stroke 
now. If I was you, Joby, I’d climb down 
and put back the church clock.” 

“ And so I would, if I knew how to get 
to it.” 

“ You’ve but to slide down my leg to the 
parapet : and from the parapet you can jump 
right on to the string-course under the 
clock. ’ ’ 

Joby slid down the bird’s leg, and jumped 
on to the ledge. He had never before no- 
ticed a clock in Wendron Church tower ; 
but there one was, staring him in the face. 

“ Now,” cried his friend, “ catch hold of 
the minute-hand and turn!” Joby did 
so — “ Widdershins! ” screamed the bird: 


164 


WANDERING HEATH 


“faster ! faster ! ” Joby whizzed back the 
minute-hand with all his might. 

“ Aie, ul — 111 — 00! Lemme go! ’Tis 
my arm you’re pullin’ off!” ’Twas his 
own wife’s voice in his own four-poster. 
Joby had slid down the bed-post and caught 
hold of her arm, and was workin’ it round 
like mad from right to left. 

“I ax your pardon, my dear. I was 
thinkin’ you was another man’s bride.” 

“ Indeed, I must say you wasn’t behavin’ 
like it,” said she. 

But when she got up and lit a candle, she 
was pleased enough : for Joby’s eyes were as 
straight as yours or mine. And straight 
they have been ever since. 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL 
ROCK 

A LIGHT-SHIP IDYL 

When first the Trinity Brothers put a 
light-ship out yonder by the Gunnel Rocks, 
it was just a trifling aflair — none of your 
newfangled boats with a crew of twelve 
or fourteen hands ; and my father and I used 
to tend it, taking turn and turn with two 
other fellows from the Islands. The rule 
then — they have altered it since — was two 
months afloat and two ashore ; and all the 
time. we tossed out there on duty, not a soul 
would we see, to speak to, except when the 
I’rinity boat put off with stores for us and 
news of what was doing in the world. This 
would be about once a fortnight in fair 
weather ; but through the winter-time it was 
oftener a month, and provisions ran low 
enough, now and then, to make us anxious. 
Was the life dreary? Well, you couldn’t 


i66 


WANDERING HEATH 


call it gay ; but, all the same, you see, it 
didn’t kill me. 

For the first week I thought the motion 
would drive me crazy — up and down, up 
and down, in that everlasting ground-swell 
— although I had been at the fishing all my 
life, and knew what it meant to lie to in a 
stiffish sea. But after ten days or so I got 
not to mind it. And then there was the 
open air. It was different with the poor 
fellows on the light-house, eighteen miles to 
seaward of us, to the southwest. They drew 
better pay than ours, by a trifle; but they 
were landsmen, to start with ; and cooped 
in that narrow tower at night, with the 
shutters closed and the whole building rock- 
ing like a tree, it’s no wonder their nerves 
wore out. Four or five days of it have been 
known to finish a man ; and in those times 
a light-house-keeper had three months of 
duty straight away, and only a fortnight on 
shore. Now he gets only a fortnight out 
there, and six weeks to recover in. With 
all that, they’re mostly fit to start at their 
own shadow when the boat takes them off. 

But on the light-ship we fared tolerably. 
To begin with, we had the lantern to attend 
to. You’d be surprised how much employ- 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK 167 

ment that gives a man — cleaning, polishing, 
and trimming. And my father, though 
particular to a scratch on the reflector, or 
the smallest crust of salt on the glass, was a 
restful, cheerful sort of a man to bide with. 
Not talkative, you understand — no light- 
keeper in the world was ever talkative — but 
with a power of silence that was more com- 
forting than speech. And out there, too, 
we found all sorts of little friendly things to 
watch and think over. Sometimes a school 
of porpoises, that played around us ; or a 
line of little murrs flying ; or a sail far to 
the south, moving up Channel. And some- 
times, toward evening, the fishing-boats 
would come out and drop anchor a mile and 
a half to south’ ard, down sail, and hang out 
their riding lights ; and we knew that they 
took their mark from us, and that gave a so- 
ciable feeling. 

On clear afternoons, too, by swarming up 
the mast just beneath the cage, I could see 
the Islands away in the east, with the sun on 
their cliffs ; and home wasn’t so far off, 
after all. The town itself, which lay low 
down on the shore, we could never spy, 
but glimpsed the lights of it, now and then, 
after sunset. These always flickered a great 


i68 


WANDERING HEATH 


deal, because of the waves, like little hills of 
water, bobbing between them and us. And 
always we had the light-house for company. 
In daytime, through the glass we could 
watch the keepers walking about in the iron 
gallery round the top ; and all night through 
there it was beckoning to us with its three 
white flashes every minute. No, we w’eren’t 
exactly gay out there, and sometimes we 
made wild weather of it. Yet we did pretty 
well, except for the fogs, when our arms 
ached with keeping the gong going. 

But if we were comfortable then, you 
should have seen us at the end of our two 
months, when the boat came off with the 
relief, and took us on shore. John and 
Robert Pendlurian were the names of the 
relief ; brothers they were, oldsters of about 
fifty-five and fifty ; and John Pendlurian, 
the elder, a widow-man, same as my father, 
but with a daughter at home. laving in 
the Islands, of course, I’d known Bathsheba 
ever since we’d sat in infant-school; and 
what more natural than to ask after her 
health, along with the other news ? But 
Old John got to look sly and wink at my 
father when we came to this question, out of 
the hundred others. And the other two 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK 169 

would take it up and wink back solemn as 
mummers. I never lost my temper with the 
old idiots : ’twasn’t worth while. 

But the treat of all was to set foot on the 
quay-steps, and the people crowding round 
and shaking your hand and chattering ; and 
everything ashore going on just as you’d 
left it, and you not wishing it other, and 
everybody glad to see you all the same ; and 
the smell of the gardens and the stinking 
fish at the quay-corner — you might choose 
between them, but home was in both ; and 
the nets drying ; and to be out of oilskins 
and walking to meeting-house on the Sun- 
day, and standing up there with the congre- 
gation, all singing in company, and the 
women taking stock of you till the new- 
ness wore off ; and the tea-drinking, and 
Band of Hopes, and courants, and dances ? 
We had all the luck of these ; for the two 
Pendlurians, being up in years and easily 
satisfied so long as they were left quiet, 
were willing to take their holidays in the 
dull months, beginning with February and 
March. And so I had April and May, 
when a man can always be happy ashore ; 
and August and September, which is the 
best of the fishing and all the harvest and 


WANDERING HEATH 


170 

harvest games; and again, December and 
January, with the courants and geesy-danc- 
ing, and carols and wassail -singing. Early 
one December, when he came to relieve us, 
Old John said to me in a hap-hazard way, 

It’s all very well for me and Robert, my 
lad ; for us two can take equal comfort in 
singin’ ‘ Star o' Betht evi ’ ashore or afloat ; 
but I reckon ’tis somebody’s place to see 
that Bathsheba don’t miss any of the sea- 
son’s joy an’ dancin’ on our account.” 

Now, Bathsheba had an unmarried aunt — 
Aunt Hessy Pendlurian we called her — that 
used to take her to all the parties and cou- 
rants when Old John was away at sea. So she 
wasn’t likely to miss any of the fun, bein’ 
able to foot it as clever as any girl in the Isl- 
ands. She had the love of it, too — foot and 
waist and eyes all a-dancing, and body and 
blood all a-tingle as soon as ever the fiddle 
spoke. Maybe this same speech of Old 
John’s set me thinking. Or, maybe I’d 
been thinking already ; what with their May- 
game hints and the loneliness out there. 
Anyway, I dangled pretty close on Bath- 
sheba’s heels all that Christmas. She was 
comely — you understand — very comely and 
tall, with dark blood, and eyes that put you 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK 171 


ill mind of a light shining steady upon dark 
water. And good as gold. She’s dead and 
gone these twelve years — rest her soul ! 
But (praise God for her !) I’ve never married 
another woman nor wanted to. 

There, I’ve as good as told you already. 
When the time came and I asked her if she 
liked me, she said she liked no man half so 
well ; and that being as it should be, the 
next thing was to put up the banns. There 
wasn’t time that holiday ; like a fool, I had 
been dilly-dallying too long, though I be- 
lieve now I might have asked her a month 
before. So the wedding was held in the 
April following, my father going out to the 
Gunnel for a couple of days, so that Old 
John might be ashore to give his daughter 
away. The most I mind of the wedding was 
the wonder of beholding the old chap there 
in a long- tailed coat, having never seen him 
for years but in his oilskins. 

Well, the rest of that year seemed pretty 
much like all the others, except that coming 
home was better than ever. But when 
Christmas went by, and February came, and 
our turn to be out again on the Gunnel, I 
went with a dismal feeling I hadn’t known 
before. For Bathsheba was drawing near 


172 


WANDERING HEATH 


her time, and the sorrow was that she must 
go through it without me. She had walked 
down to the quay with us to see us off ; 
and all the way she chatted and laughed 
with my father as cheerful as cheerful — but 
never letting her eyes rest on me, I noticed, 
and I saw what that meant ; and when it 
came to good-by, there was more in the 
tightening of her. arms about me than I’d 
ever read in it before. 

The old man, I reckon, had a wisht time 
with me the next two or three weeks ; but, 
by the mercy of God, the weather behaved 
furious all the while, leaving a man no time 
to mope. ’Twas busy all, and busy enough, 
to keep a clear light in the lantern, and 
warm souls inside our bodies. All through 
February it blew hard and cold from the 
north and northwest, and though we lay in 
the very mouth of the Gulf Stream, for ten 
days together there wasn’t a halliard we could 
touch with the naked hand nor a cloth nor 
handful of cotton-waste but had to be thawed 
at the stove before using. Then, with the 
beginning of March, the wind tacked round 
to southwest, and stuck there, blowing big 
guns, and raising a swell that was something 
cruel. It was one of these gales that tore 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK 173 


away the bell from the light-house, though 
hung just over a hundred feet above water- 
level. As for us, I wonder now how the 
little boat held by its two-ton anchors, even 
with three hundred fathom of chain cable 
to bear the strain and jerk of it; but with 
the spindrift whipping our faces, and the 
hail cutting them, we didn’t seem to have 
time to think of that. Bathsheba thought of 
it, though, in her bed at home — as I’ve heard 
since — and lay awake more than one night 
thinking of it. 

But the third week in March the weather 
moderated ; and soon the sun came out, and 
I began to think. On the second afternoon 
of the fair weather I climbed up under the 
cage and saw the Islands for the first time ; 
and, coming down, I said to my father : 

“ Suppose that Bathsheba is dead ! ” 

We hadn’t said more than a word or two to 
each other for a week ; indeed, till yesterday, 
we had to shout in each other’s ear to be 
heard at all. My father filled a pipe and 
said, “ Don’t be a fool.” 

I see your hand shaking,” said I. 

Said he, “ That’s with the cold. At 
my age the cold takes a while to leave a 
man’s extremities.” 


WANDERING HEATH 


174 


I went on in an obstinate way, 
** suppose she is dead ? ” 

My father answered, She is a well-built 
woman. The Lord is good.” 

Not another word than this could I get 
from him. That evening — the wind now 
coming easy from the south, and the swell 
gone down in a wonderful way — as I was 
boiling water for the tea, we saw a dozen 
fishing-boats standing out from the Islands. 
They ran down to within two miles of us and 
then hove-to. The nets went out, and the 
sails came down, and by and by through the 
glass I could spy the smoke coming up from 
their cuddy-stoves. 

They might have brought news,” I cried 
out, even if ’tis sorrow ! ” 

Maybe there was no news to bring.” 

“ ’Twould have been neighborly, then, 
to run down and say so.” 

‘‘And run into the current here, I sup- 
pose ? With a chance of the wind falling 
light at any moment.” 

I don’t know if this satisfied my father; but 
I know he meant it to satisfy me, which it was 
pretty far from doing. Before daylight the 
boats hoisted sail again, and were well under 
the Islands and out of sight by breakfast-time. 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK 175 

After this, for a whole long week I reckon 
I did little more than pace the ship to and 
fro ; a fisherman’s walk, as they say — three 
steps and overboard. I took the three steps 
and wished I was overboard. My father 
watched me queerly all the while ; but we 
said no word to each other, not even at 
meals. 

It was the eighth day after the fishing- 
boats left us, and about four in the afternoon, 
that we saw a brown sail standing toward us 
from the Islands, and my father set down the 
glass, resting it on the gunwale, and said : 

That’s Old John’s boat.” 

I took the glass from him, and was putting 
it to my eye ; but had to set it down and 
turn my back. I couldn’t wait there with 
my eye on the boat ; so I crossed to the 
other side of the ship and stood staring at the 
light-house away on the sky-line, and whis- 
pered : ‘‘Come quickly!” But the wind 
had moved a couple of points to the west and 
then fallen very light, and the boat must 
creep toward us close-hauled. After a long 
while my father spoke again : 

“ That will be Old John steerin’ her. I 
reckoned so; he’ve got her jibshakin’ — that’s 
it ; sail her close till she strikes the tide-race. 


176 


WANDERING HEATH 


and that’ll fetch her down, winder no wind. 
Halloa ! — Lad, lad ! ’tis all right ! See 
there, that bit o’ red ensign run up to the 
gaff ! ’" . 

Why should that mean aught ? ” asked I. 
“ Would he trouble to hoist bunting if he 
had no news ? Would it be there, close 
under the peak, if the news was bad ? — and 
she his own daughter, his only flesh ! ’ ’ 

It may have been twenty minutes later 
that Old John felt the Gunnel current, and, 
staying the cutter round, came down fast on 
us with the wind behind his beam. My 
father hailed to him once and twice, and the 
second time he must have heard. But, with- 
out answering, he ran forward and took in 
his foresail. And then I saw an arm and a 
little hand reached up to take hold of the 
tiller, and my heart gave a great jump. 

It was she, my wife Bathsheba, laid there 
by the stern-sheets on a spare sail, with a 
bundle of oilskins to cushion her. With one 
hand she steered the boat up into the wind as 
Old John lowered sail and they drifted along- 
side; and with the other she held a small 
bundle close against her breast. 

“Such a whackin’ boy I never see in my 
life ! ” — these were Old John’s first words, 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK 177 


and he shouted them. Born only yestiddy 
week, an’ she ought to be abed ; an’ so I’ve 
been tellin’ her ever since she dragged me 
out ’pon this wildygo errand ! ” 

But Bathsheba, as I lifted her over the 
light-ship’s side, said no more than “ Oh, 
Tom ! ” — and let me hold her, with her fore- 
head pressed close against me. And the 
others kept very quiet, and everything was 
quiet about us, until she jumped back on a 
sudden and found all her speech in a flood. 

Tom,” she said, “ you’re crushin’ him, 
you great awkward man ! ” And she turned 
back the shawl and snatched the handker- 
chief off the baby’s face — a queer-looking 
face it was, too. Be all babies as queer as 
that?” thought I. Lucky I didn’t say it, 
though. There, my blessed, my hand- 
some ! Look, my tender. Eh, Tom, but he 
kicks my side all to bruises ; my merryun, 
my giant ! Look up at your father, and you 
his very image ! ” That was pretty stiff. 
‘‘ I declare,” she says, ‘‘ he’s lookin’ about 
an’ takin’ stock of everything” — and that 
was pretty stiff, too. “ So like a man ; all 
for the sea and the boats ! Tom, dear, 
father will tell you that all the way on the 
water he was as good as gold ; and, on 


178 


WANDERING HEATH 


shore before that, kicking and fisting — all 
for the sea and the boats ; the man of him ! 
Hold him, dear, but be careful ! A Sun- 
day’s child, too — 

‘ Sunday 5 child is full of graced 

And — the awkward you are ! Here, give 
him back to me ; but feel how far down in 
his clothes the feet of him reach. Extraor- 
dinar’ ! Aun’ Hessy mounted a chair and 
climbed ’pon the chest o’ drawers with him 
before takin’ him downstairs, so that he’ll 
go up in the world, an’ not down.” 

‘‘ If he wants to try both,” said I, ^‘he’d 
best follow his father and grandfathers, and 
live ’pon a light -ship.” 

So this is how you live, Tom ; and you, 
father; and you, father-in-law ! ” She moved 
about, examining everything — the lantern, 
the fog signals, and life buoys, the cooking- 
stove, bunks, and store-cupboards. “ To 
think that here you live, all the menkind be- 
longin’ to me, and I never to have seen it ! 
All the menkind did I say, my rogue ! And 
was I forgettin’ you — you — you?” Kisses 
here, of course ; and tlien she held the 
youngster up to look at liis face in the light. 
“Ah, heart of me, will you grow up too to 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK 179 

live in a light-ship and leave a poor woman 
at home to weary for you in her trouble ? 
Rogue, rogue, what poor woman have I 
done this to, bringing you into the world 
to be her torture and her joy? ” 

‘‘ Dear,” says I, ‘‘ you’re weak yet. Sit 
down by me and rest awhile before the time 
comes to go back.” 

But I’m not going back yet awhile. 
Your son, sir, and I are goin’ to spend the 
night aboard.” 

“Halloa!” I said, and looked toward 
Old John, who had made fast astern of us 
and run a line out to one of the anchor- 
buoys. 

“ ’Tisn’t allowed, o’ course,” he mut- 
tered, looking in turn and rather sheepishly 
toward my father. “ But once in a way — 
’tis all Bathsheba’s notion, and you mustn’ 
ask he wound up. 

“ ‘ Once in a way ! ’ ” cried Bathsheba. 
“ And is it twice in a way that a woman 
comes to a man and lays his first child in his 
arms ? ’ ’ 

My father had been studying the sunset 
and the sky to windward ; and now he an- 
swered Old John : 

“ ’Tis once in a way, sure enough, that a 


i8o 


WANDERING HEATH 


boat can lay alongside the Gunnel. But the 
wind’s falling, and the night’ll be warm, 
I reckon if you stay in the boat, Old John, 
she’ll ride pretty comfortable ; and I’ll give 
the word to cast off at the leas test sign.” 

“ Once in a way ” — ah, sirs, it isn’t twice 
in a way there comes such a night as that was ! 
We lit the light at sunset, and hoisted it, and 
made tea, talking like children all the while ; 
and my father the biggest child of all. Old 
John had his share passed out to him, and 
ace it alone out therein the boat ; and, there 
being a lack of cups, Bathsheba and I drank 
out of the same, and scalded our lips, and 
must kiss to make them well. Foolishness? 
Dear, dear, I suppose so. And the jokes 
we had, calling out to Old John as the 
darkness fell, and wishing him ‘‘Good- 
night ! ” “ Ou, aye ; I hear ’ee,” was all he 
answered. After we’d eaten our tea and 
washed up, I showed Bathsheba how to crawl 
into her bunk, and passed in the baby and 
laid it in her arms, and so left her, telling 
her to rest and sleep. But by and by, as I 
was keeping watch, she came out, declaring 
the place stifled her. So I pulled out a mat- 
tress and blankets and strewed a bed for her 
out under the sky, and sat down beside her. 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK i8i 


watching while she suckled the child. She 
had him wrapped up so that the two dark 
eyes of him only could be seen, staring up 
from the breast to the great bright lantern 
above him. The moon was in her last 
quarter, and would not rise till close upon 
dawn, and the night pitchy dark around us, 
with a very few stars. In less than a minute 
Bathsheba gave a start and laid a hand on 
my arm. 

Oh, Tom, what was that ? ” 

“Look up,” said I. “ ’Tis the birds 
flying about the light.” 

For, of course, our light always drew the 
sea-birds, especially on dark, dull nights, 
and ’twas long since we had grown used to 
the sound of their beating and flapping, and 
took no notice of it. A moment after I 
spoke one came dashing against the rigging, 
and we heard him tumble into the sea ; and 
then one broke his neck against the cage 
overhead and tumbled dead at our feet. 
Bathsheba shivered as I tossed him over- 
board. 

“Is it always like this ? ” she whispered. 
“ I thought ’twas only at the cost of a silly 
woman’s fears that you saved men’s lives out 
here. ’ ’ 


i 82 


WANDERING HEATH 


“Well,” said I, “ this is something more 
than usual, to be sure. ’ ’ 

For, looking up into the circle of light, 
we could see now at least a hundred birds 
flying round and round, and in half an hour’s 
time there must have been many hundreds. 
Their white breasts were like a snow’storm ; 
and soon they began to fall thick upon deck. 
They were not all sea-birds, either. 

“Halloa! ” said I, “ what’s the day of 
the month ? ’ ’ 

“ The nineteenth of March.” 

“ Here’s a wheat-ear, then,” I said. “ In 
a couple of weeks we shall have the swal- 
lows ; and, a couple of weeks after, a cuckoo, 
maybe. So you see that even out here by 
the Gunnel we know when spring comes 
along.” 

And I began to hum the old song that 
children sang in the Islands : 

The cuckoo is a pretty bird^ 

He sings as he flies ; 

He brings us good tidings. 

He tells us no lies ; 

He sucks the stveet flowers 
To make his voice clear, 

A nd when he says ‘ Cuckoo I ’ 

The summer is near." 


VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK 183 

Bathsheba’s eyes were wet for the poor 
birds, but she took up the song, crooning 
it soft-like, and persuading the child to 
sleep : 

“ 0 , meeting is a pleasure^ 

But parting is grief ; 

An inconstant lover 
Is worse than a thief ; 

For a thief at the worst 
Will take all that I have ; 

But an inconstant lover 
Sends me to my grave." 

Her hand stole into mine as the boy’s eyes 
closed, and clasped my fingers, entreating me 
in silence to look and admire him. Our 
own eyes met over him, and I saw by the 
lantern-light the happy blush rise and spread 
over neck and chin and forehead. The flap- 
ping of the birds overhead had almost died 
away, and we lay still, watching the light- 
house flash, far down in the empty darkness. 

By and by the clasp of her hand slackened. 
A star shot down the sky, and I turned. 
Her eyelids, too, had drooped, and her 
breath came and went as softly and regularly 
as the Atlantic swell around us. And my 
child slept in her arms. 

Day was breaking before the first cry 


184 


WANDERING HEATH 


awoke her. My father had the breakfast 
ready, and Old John sang out to hurry. A 
fair wind went with them to the Islands — a 
light southwester. As the boat dropped 
out of sight, I turned and drew a deep 
breath of it. It was full of the taste of 
flowers, and I knew that spring was already 
at hand, and coming up that way. 


LETTERS FROM TROY 


ADDRESSED TO RASSELAS, PRINCE 


OF ABYSSINIA 


1 


THE FIRST PARISH MEETING 

Troy Town, 
December 1894. 

My Dear Prince, — I feel sure that you, 
as a sympathetic student of western politics 
and manners, must be impatient to hear 
about our first Parish Meeting in Troy ; and 
so I am catching the earliest post to inform 
you that from a convivial point of view the 
whole proceedings were in the highest de- 
gree successful. And if Self-Government 
by the People can provide a success of the 
kind in that dull season when people as a 
rule are saving up for Christmas, I hardly 
think our Chairman stretched a point last 
night when he said, ‘‘This evening will 
leave its mark on the history of England.” 
Indeed, some inkling of this must have 
guided us when w'e met, a few days before, 
and agreed to postpone our usual Tuesday 


i88 


WANDERING HEATH 


evening Carol-practice in order to give the 
New Era a fair start. And I am told this 
morning that the near approach of the sa- 
cred season had a sensibly pacific influence 
upon the counsels of our neighbours at 
Treneglos. The parishioners there are mostly 
dairy-farmers, and party feeling runs high. 
But while eggs fetch 2d. apiece (as they do, 
towards Christmas) there will always be a 
disposition to give even the most unmar- 
ketable specimens the benefit of any doubt. 

We were at first a good deal annoyed on 
finding that the Act allowed Troy but 
eleven Parish Councillors. We have never 
had less than sixty-five on our Regatta Com- 
mittee, and we had believed Local Self- 
Government to be at least as important as a 
Regatta. We argued this out at some length 
last night, and the Chairman — Lawyer 
Thoms — admitted that we had reason on 
our side. But his instructions were definite, 
and he could not (as he vivaciously put it) 
fly in the face of the Queen and two Houses 
of Parliament. We saw that his regret was 
sincere, and so contented ourselves with 
handing in seventy-two nomination papers 
for the eleven places, just to mark our sense 
of the iniquity of the thing. 


THE FIRST PARISH MEETING 189 


In another matter we worked round the 
intention of the Act more successfully. We 
have never been able to understand why the 
Liberal party in the House of Commons 
should object to Local Self-Government tak- 
ing place in public-houses. The objection 
implies a distrust of the people. And it so 
happens that down here we always take a 
glass of grog before inaugurating an era ; we 
would as soon think of praetermitting this 
as of launching a ship without cracking a 
bottle on her stem. So we asked the 
Chairman, and finding there was no law to 
prevent us, we ordered in half-a-dozen 
trays from the King of Prussia,” across 
the way. The Vicar, who is a particular 
man about his food and drink, pulled out a 
pocket Vesuvius and a bottle of methylated 
spirit, and boiled his kettle in the ante- 
room. 

Well, there we were sitting in the Town 
Hall, as merry as grigs, each man with his pipe 
and glass, and ready for any amount of Self- 
Government. And the Chairman stood up 
and briefly explained the business of the meet- 
ing. He said the Parish Councils Act was 
the logical result of Magna Charta, and would 
have the effect of making us all citizens of 


190 


WANDERING HEaTH 


our own parish ; and that as the expense of 
this would come upon the rates, we should 
endeavour to use our hardly-w'on enfran- 
chisement with moderation. We had met 
to choose eleven good men and true to ad- 
minister the parish business for the coming 
year, or to nominate as many good men 
and true as we pleased. If more than eleven 
were nominated ” — this was foolishness, for 
he could see there was hardly a man in the 
room that hadn’t a nomination paper in his 
hand — ‘ ‘ he would ask for a show of hands, 
and any candidate defeated upon this might 
demand a poll. He hoped we would vote in 
no spirit of sectarian or partisan bitterness, 
but as impartial citizens jealous only for the 
common weal ; at the same time he was not 
in favour of letting down the Squire, Sir 
Felix Felix-Williams, too easily.” 

So we handed up our nomination papers, 
and while the Chairman and overseers were 
checking them off by the register. Old 
Pilot James got upon his legs. 

He said that as long as he could remem- 
ber — man and boy — he had always prac- 
tised carols in that very Town Hall upon the 
first Tuesday in December. The Vicar — as 
soon as he had done boiling the kettle in the 


THE FIRST PARISH MEETING 19 1 

next room — would come in and confirm his 
words. The practices were held on the 
first Tuesday in December, and on each 
successive Tuesday until St. Thomas’s Day, 
when they had one extra. If St. Thomas’s 
Day fell on a Tuesday, then the extra prac- 
tice would be on Wednesday. He had re- 
ceived no notice of the change. 

Thomas Rabling rose and explained that 
at a meeting held last Saturday, the singers 
had agreed to postpone the first practice in 
view of Local Self-Government. Mr. James 
had been present and had not objected. 

George William Oxe — a blockmaker, who 
had never sung a carol or attended a practice 
in his life — stood up and said, rather un- 
necessarily, that this was the first he' d heard 
of it. 

Old Pilot James, answering Mr. Rabling, 
admitted that he might have been present at 
the meeting on Saturday. But he was deaf, 
as everybody knew — and Mr. Rabling no 
less than the rest — and hadn’t heard a word 
of what was said. If he had, he should have 
objected. But, deaf or not deaf, he still 
took a delight in singing ; and, if only as a 
matter of principle, he was going to sing, 
“ God rest you ^ merry gentlemefi^" then and 


192 


WANDERING HEATH 


there. He was an old man, and they might 
turn him out if they liked ; but he warned 
them it would be brutal, and might lead to 
a summons. 

Well, the Chairman was making a long 
business of the nomination papers, so just to 
pass the time we let the old man sing. It 
seemed churlish, too, not to join in the 
chorus ; and by and by the whole meeting 
was singing with a will. We sang Tidings 
of Comfort aiid Joy, ’ ’ and ‘ ‘ / saw Three 
Ships f and the Cherry-tree Carols and 

Dives and Lazarus T AVe had come to 
that verse where Dives is carried off to sit 
on the serpent's knee, when the Chairman 
rose and said that only five of the nomina- 
tion papers were spoilt, and he declared 
sixty-seven ladies and gentlemen to be duly 
nominated. 

We all pricked up our ears at the word 
“ladies.” However, there turned out to be 
one lady only ; and when the Chairman read 
out her name, her husband — a naval pen- 
sioner, William Carclew — stood up and ex- 
plained that he had only meant it for a joke 
upon the old woman, just to give her a start, 
and he hoped it would go no further. This 
seemed fair and natural enough ; but the 


THE FIRST PARISH MEETING 


193 


Chairman said if Mrs, Carclew wished to 
withdraw her name she had better do so at 
once by word of mouth. So Carclew had to 
run home and fetch her. While he was gone 
we finished Dives and Lazarus ^ 

In five minutes’ time back came Carclew, 
followed by Mrs. Carclew, who announced 
— in a rich brogue — that since her man had 
conspired to put this fool’s trick upon her, 
why now she would stand, begob ! “ Ar- 

rah now, people, people, and a gay man 
he’ll look houlding the babby, while I’m af- 
ther superinthendin’ the Parush ! ” So the 
Chairman declared her duly nominated. It 
will surprise me if she does not head the poll 
on the 17 th. 

The Chairman now invited us to interro- 
gate the candidates, if we wished. By this 
time we were getting pretty well into the 
way of self-government, and all enjoying it 
amazingly. Of course our lady candidate, 
Mrs. Carclew, had the first few questions ; 
but these were mostly jocular and domestic, 
and I am bound to say the lady gave as good 
as was brought. The only sensible question 
came from Old Pilot James, who asked if 
she believed in the ballot. For his part he 
had never given a vote for anybody since 

13 


194 WANDERING HEATH 

Forster brought in the ballot in ’seventy- 
one. He favoured peace and quiet ; and he 
liked to walk up to the hustings and give his 
vote, and hear ’em say, “ Well done ! ” or 

‘‘You old scoundrel ! ” as the case 

might be. He didn’t mind being called “a 

old scoundrel,” provided it was said 

to him by a gentleman who weighed his 
words. Since Forster brought in ballot he 
had always gone to the poll regular. He al- 
ways took his paper and wrote opposite the 
names : “ Shan' t say a word. Got my living 
to get. Yours obediently^ Matthias James ’ ’ 
— and would advise everybody else to do the 
same. 

After him, Renatus Hansombody, carpen- 
ter, rose at the back of the hall and an- 
nounced that he had a question to put to 
the Doctor. The Doctor, by the way, is 
one of the most popular of the candidates. 

“ I should like,” said Mr. Hansombody, 
“ to ask the Doctor if he will kindly explain 
to the company Clauses 5, 6, and 13 of 
the new Act ? ’ ’ 

The Chairman protested that this would 
occupy more time than the meeting had to 
spare.: : : . A 

“In that case,” said Mr. Hansombody, 


THE FIRST PARISH MEETING 195 

I will confine myself to a test question. 
The Act provides that the Chairman of a 
Parish Meeting is to be elected by the 
Meeting. Now suppose the votes for two 
gentlemen are equal. In such a case what 
would the Doctor advise? For until you 
have a Chairman elected, there is no Chair- 
man to give a casting vote. ’ ’ 

The Doctor thought that, since we had 
long ago elected a Chairman by acclama- 
tion, the question was superfluous. 

‘ ^ And you call him a straightforward 
man!” Mr. Hansombody exclaimed, turn- 
ing round on the Meeting. What I say 
is, are we to have pusillanimity in our first 
Parish Council ? What I say is, that a gen- 
tleman who gives a working man such an 

answer to such a question ’ ’ 

At this point the door opened and a shrill 
voice asked, “ Is Hansombody here? ” 

am here,” said Hansombody, ‘‘to 
expose impostors ! ’ ’ 

“ Because if so, he must please come home 
at once. Mrs. Hansombody’s cryin’-out I ” 
“I always said,” remarked Old Pilot 
James, “ that this cussed Act would scare 
half the women in the Parish before their 
time. ” 


196 


WANDERING HEATH 


‘‘Beggin’ your pard’n, Doctor,” began 
his denouncer lamely. 

Not at all, not at all,” said the Doctor. 

We must keep these matters altogether 
outside the sphere of party politics.” {Loud 
cheering.') 

“ Then I’ll have to ask you to step along 
with me,” 

The two political opponents picked up 
their hats, and left the room together. 

The Chairman rose as the door closed 
behind them. think,” he said, ‘‘this 
should be a lesson to us to accept the Act 
in the spirit in which it was given. If no- 
body else wishes to ask a question, I will 
now take a show of hands : but I warn you 
all it’ll be a dreary business.” 

At this, the first hint of tedium, the com- 
pany rose, drained their glasses, and made 
for the door, leaving the sixty-six remain- 
ing candidates to vote for themselves. 

“Well,” Mr. Rabling said to me, as we 
stood in the street; “so far, this here Par- 
ish Meeting might be like any other Parish 
Meeting in the Kingdom ! ” 

I doubted, but did not contradict him. 

“ There’s one thing,” he added ; “ Iron- 


THE FIRST PARISH MEETING 


197 


monger Loveday has laid in a whole stock 
of sixpenny fire-balloons for to-night : and 
there isn’t a breath of wind. His boy’s 
very clever with the scissors and paste : and 
he’ve a-stuck a tissue-paper text on each — 
‘Success to the Charter of our Liberties/ 
and ‘ Rule Britannia ’ and ‘ God Speed the 
Plough ’ ; and nothing more than the six- 
pence charged.” 

Simple, egregious, delectable town ! As 
I leaned out last night, watching the young 
moon and smoking the last pipe before bed- 
time, a dozen of these gay balloons rose 
from the waterside and drifted on the faint 
north wind, seaward, past my window. 
Another dozen followed, and another, until 
from one point and another of the dark 
shore a hundred balloons soared over the 
water, challenging the stars. 


t 




I 




II 


THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD 

Troy Town, 

Jan, 2^thy 1895. 

And then, as he set the bowl of goat’s 
milk on the board, that simple Tyrolean 
turned to me with a magnificent sweep of 

the hand, and exclaimed ” 

Ah, my dear Prince, if you could only 
tell me what he exclaimed, you would re- 
store a whole parish to its natural slumbers. 
For indeed he is playing the deuce with our 
nights, here in Troy, that guileless Tyro- 
lean. 

How trivial are the immediate causes of 
great events ! On New Year’s Day our ex- 
cellent Vicar, having bought himself a Whit- 
aker’s Almanack for 1895, presented his 
last year’s copy to the Working Men’s 
Reading Room. In itself you would have 
thought this action of the Vicar’s signified 


200 


WANDERING HEATH 


no more than a generous desire to keep his 
parishioners abreast of the times. In effect 
it inaugurated the Great Temperance Move- 
ment in Troy — a social revolution of which 
we are only now, after four long weeks, be- 
ginning to see the end. 

You must not, of course, suppose that we 
had never heard of temperance before. No, 
Prince, we do not live so far from Abyssinia 
as all that. In a general way we understood 
it to be a good thing, and upon that ground 
(optimists that we are) believed its ultimate 
success to be but a question of time. But I 
think I may say we never regarded it as a 
pressing question — ^such as the reform of the 
House of Lords, for instance. The general 
impression (I call it no more) was that we 
should all be temperate sooner or later ; pos- 
sibly as the next step after espousing our De- 
ceased Wife’s Sister. 

Well, our Vicar laid his copy of the 1894 
almanack on the reading-room table at 11.30 
a.m., or thereabouts, looked over the local 
papers for a few minutes, and left the build- 
ing at ten minutes to noon. I get this in- 
formation from Matthias James, our respected 
pilot, who happened to be in the room, 
reading the Shipping Gazette. It is con- 


THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD 


201 


firmed by Mr. Hansombody and four or five 
other members. At noon precisely, Mr. 
Rabling (our gasman and an earnest Metho- 
dist) came in. His eye, as it wandered 
round in search of an unoccupied newspaper, 
was arrested by the scarlet and green bind- 
ing of Whitaker. He picked the book up, 
opened it casually, and read — 

“ The proof gallons of spirits distilled dur- 
ing the year ending March 31st, 1893, were 
10,691,576 in England, 20,107,077 in Scot- 
land, and 13,615,668 in Ireland. . . 

He tells me he was on the point of clos- 
ing the book as a voluptuous work of fiction, 
when a second and even more dazzling para- 
graph took his eye. 

“The beer charged with duty in the 
United Kingdom was 32,104,320 barrels, 
532,047 barrels of which were exported on 
drawback, leaving 31,572,283 barrels for 
home consumption. There were also 38,- 
580 barrels of beer, and 1,653 barrels of 
spruce imported from abroad.” 

And again : — 

“ The spirits ‘ retained for home consump- 
tion ’ in the year were: — rum, 4,268,438 
gallons ; brandy, 2,668,499 gallons ; ' other 
sorts,* 824,078 gallons. The home con- 


202 


WANDERING HE^TH 


sumption of tobacco in the year reached the 
total of 63,765,053 lbs. Though the to- 
bacco duty was reduced by 46.. a lb. in 
1887-8, the annual yield averages ;^i?336,- 
240 more than it was ten years ago. Smug- 
gling still continues. . . .” 

Mr. Rabling was declaiming aloud by this 
time, and when he read out about the smug- 
gling, one or two of his audience gazed up 
at the ceiling and agreed that the fellow had 
some of his facts right. Old Pilot James 
added that the book could hardly be a work 
of fiction, since the Vicar had left it on the 
table, and the Vicar was not one to scatter 
lies except upon due deliberation. 

Mr. Rabling left the room and walked 
straight up to the Vicarage, and the Vicar 
assured him that the Customs Returns were 
almost as accurate as if they had been pre- 
pared under a Conservative Government. 
You must excuse these details, Prince. They 
are really essential to the story. 

At 12.55 Rabling (after a hasty din- 
ner) handed across the counter of the post- 
office a telegram addressed to his religious 
superintendent at Plymouth. The message 
ran — 

“ Ifere anual co 7 isu 7 nption of beer over 


THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD 203 

three fnilion bar Is. Greatly distresd, Rab- 

The telegraph clerk kindly corrected all 
the errors of spelling in the above, save one, 
which escaped him. By here ” Mr. Rab- 
ling had intended ‘‘hear” {scilicet “I 
hear,” or “ we hear).” The answer ar- 
rived from Plymouth within an hour. 

Am sending missionary next tram.''' 

Thus our temperance movement began. 
The missionary arrived before set of sun, 
borrowed a chair from Mr. Rabling, carried 
it down to the town quay and mounted it. 
A number of children at once gathered 
round, in the belief that the stranger intend- 
ed a tumbling performance. The mission- 
ary eyed them and began, “ Ah, if I can 

once get hold of you tender little ones ” 

an infelicitous opening, which scattered 
them yelling, convinced that the Bogeyman 
had come for them at last. Upon this he 
changed his tone and called ‘ ‘ O Gomor- 
rah ! ’ ’ aloud several times in a rich bari- 
tone voice, which fetched quite a little 
crowd of elders around him from the read- 
ing-room, the fish-market, the “ King of 
Prussia ’ ’ inn, and other purlieus of the quay. 

Then the missionary gave us a most elo- 


204 


WANDERING HEATH 


quent and inspiriting address, in the course 
of which he mentioned that if all the beer 
annually consumed in England were placed 
in bottles, and the bottles piled on one an- 
other, it would reach within five hundred 
miles of the moon. He asked us if this 
were not an intolerable state of things and a 
disgrace to our boasted civilisation ? Of 
course, there could be no two questions 
about it. We are not unreasonable, down 
in Troy. We only want a truth to be 
brought home to us. The missionary said 
that if only a man would deny himself his 
morning glass, in eight months he could buy 
himself a harmonium, besides being better 
in mind and body. And he wound up by 
inviting us to attend a meeting in the Town 
Hall that evening. 

Well, at the evening performance he made 
us all feel so uncomfortable that, as soon as 
it was over, we held an informal gathering 
in the bar of the ‘‘ King of Prussia,” and 
decided that temperance must be given a fair 
trial. The missionary had laid particular 
stress on the necessity of taking the rising 
generation and taking them early. So we 
decided to try it first upon the children, and 
see how it worked. 


THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD 


205 


The missionary was delighted with our 
zeal. (Our zeal has often surprised and de- 
lighted strangers.) And he helped with a 
will. Early next morning he organised 
what he called a Little Drops of Water 
League,” and a juvenile branch of the Inde- 
pendent Order of Good Templars, entitled 
the Deeds not Words Lodge of Tiny 
Knights of Abstinence.” Each of these 
had its insignia. He sent ns down the pat- 
terns as soon as he returne l to Plymouth, 
and within a week the drapers’ shops were 
full of little scarves and ribbons — white and 
gold for the girls, pink and silver for the 
boys. By this time there wasn’t a child un- 
der fourteen but had taken the pledge ; and 
as for narrow blue ribbon, it could not be 
supplied fast enough. I heard talk, too, of 
a juvenile fife-and-drum band ; and the 
mothers had already begun stitching ban- 
ners for the processions. I tell you it was 
pleasant, over a pipe and glass, to watch all 
these preparations, and think how much bet- 
ter the world would be when the rising gen- 
eration came to take our places. 

But, of course, no popular movement ever 
took root in our town without a tea- 
drink ’ ’ or some such public function. And 


2o6 


WANDERING HEATH 


you may judge of our delight when, on ap- 
plying to the Vicar, we heard that he had 
been talking to the Squire, Sir Felix Felix- 
Williams, and Sir Felix would gladly pre- 
side. Sir Felix suggested the following 
programme — (i) A Public Lecture in the 
Town Hall, with a Magic Lantern to ex- 
hibit the results of excessive drinking. The 
missionary would lecture, and Sir Felix 
would take the chair. (2) The lecture 
over, the children were to form outside in 
procession and march up behind the Town 
Band to Sir Felix’s great covered tennis- 
court, where tea w’ould be spread. 

I have mentioned the Magic Lantern and 
the Town Band, and must say a word here 
on each. When the late Government set 
aside a sum of money for Technical Instruc- 
tion throughout the country. Sir Felix, who, 
as oiir chief landlord, may be supposed to 
know best what we need, decided that we 
needed to learn drawing. His idea was, by 
means of a magic lantern, to throw the model 
upon a screen for the class to copy ; and in 
the heat of his enthusiasm he purchased two 
magic lanterns at ^ 2 ^ apiece before con- 
sulting the drawing-master, who pointed out 
that a drawing- lesson, to be thorough, must 


THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD 


207 


be conducted in a certain amount of light, 
whereas a magic lantern is only effective in a 
dark room. So Sir Felix was left with two 
' very handsome lanterns on his hands, and 
I burned for an opportunity of turning them 
to account : hence his alacrity in suggest- 
ing a lecture. 

As for the Town Band, it was started last 
autumn with a view to rendering our little 
i town more attractive than ever to summer 
! visitors. The bandsmen have practised sedu- 
I lously through the winter, and are making 
great strides ; but — if fault must be found — 
I am sorry that our bandmaster, Mr. Patrick 
Sullivan (an Irishman), left the purchase and 
selection of the music to his brother, who 
lives in London and plays the piccolo at one 
of the music-halls. The result — but you 
shall hear. 

Punctually at 3.30 p.m. last Wednesday, 
Sir Felix drove down to the Town Hall in 
his brougham. The body of the Hall was 
already packed, and the missionary busy on 
the platform with his lanterns and white 
sheet. Mr. Rabling and an assistant stood 
ready to close the shutters and turn up the 
gas at the proper moment. The band waited 
outside; and as Sir Felix alighted, mounted 


2o8 


WANDERING HEATH 


the steps and entered the hall, bowing to 
right and left with the air of a real patriarch, 
the musicians crashed out the tune of — 

“ They all take after me^ 

Take whiskey in their tea. . . 

Fortunately no one associated the tune 
with its words. Sir Felix mounted the 
platform ; and after sipping a little water 
(such was our thoroughness that a glassful 
stood ready for each speaker), began to in- 
troduce the lecturer, whose name he mis- 
pronounced. The missionary was called 
Stubbs ; and by what mnemonic process 
Sir Felix turned this into Westmacott I have 
never been able to guess. However, for 
purposes of introduction that afternoon 
Westmacott he was and Westmacott he re- 
mained. Now Sir Felix, though not a very 
old man, has a rambling habit of speech, 
and tends in public discourse to forget alike 
the thread of his argument and the lapse of 
time. Conceive then our delight on his an- 
nouncing that he would confine himself to 
a brief anecdote. 

“The beauty of temperance,” said Sir 
Felix, “ was once brought home to me very 
forcibly in rather peculiar circumstances. 


THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD 


209 


Many years ago I was travelling afoot in the 
Tyrol, and chancing to pass by a shepherd’s 
cottage, turned aside to inquire my way. 
The good people of the house, with native 
hospitality, pressed me to tarry an hour and 
partake of their mid-day meal. I acceded. 
The fare, as you may suppose, was simple. 
There was no intoxicating liquor. But 
never shall I forget the gesture or the words 
of that simple shepherd as he placed a bowl 
of goat’s milk before me on the board. His 
words — a short sentence only — left such an 
impression on my mind that to this day I 
never seat myself at table without repeating 
them to myself. Three times a day for over 
thirty years I have repeated those words and 
seen in imagination the magnificent gesture 
which accompanied them. The words of 

my simple shepherd were ” 

(Here Sir Felix reproduced the simple 
shepherd’s magnificent gesture, and paused.) 

And then,” he pursued, ‘‘as he set the 
bowl of goat’s milk on the board, that sim- 
ple Tyrolean turned to me with a magnifi- 
cent sweep of the hand ’ ’ — gesture repeated 

— “and exclaimed ” 

Here followed a prolonged pause, and it 
slowly dawned upon the audience that by a 

14 


2tO 


WANDERING HEATH 


pardonable trick of memory Sir Felix was 
for the moment unable to recall the words 
he had repeated thrice a day for the last 
thirty years. 

The situation was awkward. At the back 
of the platform Mr. Rabling rose to it. He 
had once a tenor voice of moderate calibre 
which he was used to exert publicly in the 
days of Penny Readings. And the word 
‘‘Tyrolean” now suggested to him a na- 
tional song which had long reposed in his 
musical cabinet at home. He leaned for- 
ward, screened his mouth with one hand and 
whispered — 

“ Sir Felix ” 

“ Hey? ” Sir Felix whipped round. 

“ Did a’ say ” (with sudden and piercing 
pdd.) Lu/-u/-i-e-iee / Lul-ul-i-ee I Li/l- 
ul ” 

Sir Felix stamped his foot ; and I think 
we all felt glad for Rabling at that moment 
that he held his cottage on a ninety-nine 
years’ lease. But the lecture was spoiled 
before it began. The missionary piled his 
statistics to the moon, and turned down the 
gas, and showed us “ The Child : What will 
he become?” But we took no interest in 
that question. The question for us was, 


THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD 


211 


What exactly did that simple Tyrolese shep- 
herd say to Sir Felix? And that is just 
what we have been asking each other for a 
week past. 

Sir Felix recovered himself towards the 
close of the address, and at the close ac- 
knowledged our vote of thanks in a pleas- 
ant little speech — in which, however, his 
Tyrolean friend was not so much as alluded 
to. It was pretty, too, to see the Little 
Knights of Abstinence afterwards, with their 
sashes and banners, marching uphill after the 
band, like so many children of Hamelin 
after the Pied Piper. Only, my dear Prince, 
what tune do you think the band was play- 
ing ? Why — 

“ Come where the booze is cheaper. 

Come where the pints hold more . . / ” 

The missionary, I am told, is already be- 
ginning to talk as if we disappointed him. 
But this was certain to befall a man of one 
idea in a place of so many varied interests. 



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LEGENDS 


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i 


I I I 


I 


THE LEGEND OF SIR DINAR 

A PUFF of north-east wind shot over the 
hill, detached a late December leaf from the 
sycamore on its summit, and swooped like a 
wave upon the roofs and chimney-stacks 
below. It caught the smoke midway in the 
chimneys, drove it back with showers of 
soot and wood-ash, and set the townsmen 
sneezing who lingered by their hearths to 
read the morning newspaper. Its strength 
broken, it fell prone upon the main street, 
scattering its fine dust into fan -shaped 
figures, then died away in eddies towards 
the south. Among these eddies the syca- 
more leaf danced and twirled, now running 
along the ground upon its edge, now 
whisked up to the level of the first-storey 
windows. A nurse holding up a three-year- 
old child behind the pane, pointed after the 
leaf — 

“ Look — there goes Sir Dinar ! ” 


2I6 


WANDERING HEATH 


Sir Dinar was the youngest son and come- 
liest of King Geraint, who had left Arthur’s 
Court for his own western castle of Dingerein 
in Roseland, where Portscatho now stands ; 
and was buried, when his time came, over 
the Nare, in his golden boat with his silver 
oars beside him. To fill his siege at the 
Round Table he sent, in the lad’s sixteenth 
year, this Dinar, who in two years was made 
knight by King Arthur, and in the third 
was turned into an old man before he had 
achieved a single deed of note. 

For on the fifth day after he was made 
knight, and upon the Feast of Pentecost, 
there began the great quest of the Sancgrael, 
which took Sir Lancelot from the Court, 
Sir Perceval, Sir Bors, Sir Gawaine, Sir 
Galahad, and all the flower of the famous 
brotherhood. And because, after their go- 
ing, it was all sad cheer at Camelot, and 
heavy, empty days. Sir Dinar took two of 
his best friends aside, both young knights. 
Sir Galhaltin and Sir Ozanna le Coeur 
Hardi, and spoke to them of riding from 
the Court by stealth. “ For,” he said, 
*‘we have many days before us, and no 
villainy upon our consciences, and besides 
are eager. Who knows, then, but we may 


THE LEGEND OF SIR DINAR 


217 


achieve this adventure of the Sancgrael?” 
These listened and imparted it to another, 
Sir Sentrail : and the four rode forth secretly 
one morning before the dawn, and set their 
faces towards the north-east wind. 

The day of their departure was that next 
after Christmas, the same being the Feast of 
Saint Stephen the Martyr. And as they 
rode through a thick wood, it came into Sir 
Dinar’s mind that upon this day it was 
right to kill any bird that flew, in remem- 
brance that when Saint Stephen had all but 
escaped from the soldiers who guarded him, 

' a small bird had sung in their ears and 
awakened them. By this, the sky was grow- 
' ing white with the morning, but nothing 
yet clear to the sight : and while they 
j pressed forward under the naked boughs, 

I their horses’ hoofs crackling the frosted 
undergrowth. Sir Dinar was aware of a 
bird’s wing ruffling ahead, and let fly a bolt 
without warning his companions ; who had 
forgotten what morning it was, and drew 
rein for a moment. But pressing forward 
again, they came upon a gerfalcon lying, 
with long lunes tangled about his feet and 
through his breast the hole that Sir Dinar’s 
bolt had made. While they stooped over 


2i8 


WANDERING HEATH 


this bird the sun rose and shone between 
the tree-trunks, and lifting their heads they 
saw a green glade before them, and in the 
midst of the glade three pavilions set, each 
of red sendal, that shone in the morning. 
In the first pavilion slept seven knights, and 
in the second a score of damsels, but by the 
door of the third stood a lady, fair and tall, 
in a robe of samite, who, as they drew near 
to accost her, inquired of them — 

Which of you has slain my gerfalcon ? ” 
And when Sir Dinar confessed and began 
to make his excuse, “ Silly knight! ” said 
she, ‘‘who couldst not guess that my fal- 
con, too, was abroad to avenge the blessed 
Stephen. Or dost think that it was a hawk, 
of all birds, that sang a melody in the eai-s 
of his guards ? ” 

With that she laughed, as if pacified, and 
asked of their affairs ; and being told that 
they rode in search of the Sancgrael, she 
laughed again, saying — 

“ Silly knights all, that seek it before you 
be bearded ! For three of you must faint 
and die on the quest, and you, sir,” turning 
to Sir Dinar, “must many times long to 
die, yet never reach nearer by a foot. ’ ’ 

“ Let it be as God will,” answered Sir 


THE LEGEND OF SIR DINAR 


219 


Dinar. <‘But hast thou any tidings, to 
guide us ? ” 

‘‘I have heard,” said she, ‘‘that it was 
seen latest in the land of Gore, beyond 
Trent Water.” And with her white finger 
she pointed down a narrow glade that led to 
the north-west. So they thanked her and 
I pricked on, none guessing that she herself 
; w'as King Urience’s wife, of Gore, and none 
other than Queen Morgan le Fay, the fa- 
! mous enchantress, who for loss of her ger- 
falcon was lightly sending Sir Dinar to his 
ruin. 

So all that day they rode, two and two, 
in the strait alley that she had pointed out ; 
and by her enchantments she made the win- 
ter trees to move with them, serried close on 
either hand, so that, though the four knights 
wist nothing of it, they advanced not a fur- 
long for all their haste. But towards night- 
fall there appeared close ahead a blaze of 
windows lit and then a tall castle with dim 
towers soaring up and shaking to the din of 
minstrelsy. And finding a great company 
about the doors, they lit down from their 
horses and stepped into the great hall. Sir 
Dinar leading them. For a while their eyes 
were dazed, seeing that sconces flared along 


220 


WANDERING HEATH 


the walls and the place was full of knights 
and damsels brightly clad, and the floor 
shone. But while they were yet blinking, a 
band of maidens came and unbuckled their 
arms and cast a shining cloak upon each ; 
which was hardly done when a lady came 
towards them out of the throng, and though 
she was truly the Queen Morgan le Fay, 
they knew her not at all, for by her necro- 
mancy she had altered her countenance. 

‘‘Come, dance,’’ said she, “for in an 
instant the musicians will begin.” 

The other three knights tarried awhile, 
being weary with riding; but Sir Dinar 
stepped forward and caught the hand of a 
damsel, and she, as she gave it, looked in 
his eyes and laughed. She was dressed all 
in scarlet, with scarlet shoes, and her hair 
lay on her shoulders like waves of burnished 
gold. As Sir Dinar set his arm about her, 
with a crash the merry music began ; and 
floating out with him into the dance, her 
scarlet shoes twinkling and her tossed hair 
shaking spices under his nostrils, she leaned 
back a little on his arm and laughed again. 

Sir Galhaltin was leaning by the doorway, 
and he heard her laugh and saw her feet 
twinkle like blood-red moths, and he called 


THE LEGEND OF SIR DINAR 


221 


to Sir Dinar. But Sir Dinar heard only the 
brassy music, nor did any of the dancers 
turn their heads, though Sir Galhaltin called 
a second time and more loudly. Then Sir 
Sen trail and Sir Ozanna also began to call, 
fearing they knew not what for their comrade. 
But the guests still drifted by as they were 
clouds, and Sir Dinar, with the red blood 
showing beneath the down on his cheeks, 
smiled always and whirled with the woman 
upon his arm. 

By and by he began to pant, and would 
i have rested : but she denied him. 

‘‘ Fora moment only,” he said, “ because 
I I have ridden far to-day.” 

But ^‘No” she said, and hung a little 
more heavily upon his arm, and still the 
music went on. And now, gazing upon 
her, he was frightened ; for it seemed she 
was growing older under his eyes, with deep 
lines sinking into her face, and the flesh of 
her neck and bosom shrivelling up, so that 
the skin hung loose and gathered in wrinkles. 
And now he heard the voices of his com- 
panions calling about the door, and would 
have cast off the sorceress and run to them. 
But when he tried, his arm was welded 
around her waist, nor could he stay his feet. 


222 


WANDERING HEATH 


The three knights now, seeing the sweat 
upon his white face and the looks he cast tow- 
ards them, would have broken in and freed 
him: but they, too, were by enchantment 
held there in the doorway. So, with their 
eyes starting, they must needs stay there and 
watch ; and while they stood the boards be- 
came as molten brass under Sir Dinar's feet, 
and the hag slowly withered in his embrace : 
and still the music played, and the other 
dancers cast him never a look as he whirled 
round and round again. But at length, with 
never a stay in the music, his partner’s feet 
trailed heavily, and, bending forward, she 
shook her white locks clear of her gaunt 
eyes, and laughed a third time, bringing her 
lips close to his. And the poison of death 
was in her lips as she set them upon his 
mouth. With that kiss there was a crash. 
The lights went out, and the music died 
away in a wail : and the three knights by 
the door were caught away suddenly and 
stunned by a great wind. 

Awaking, they found themselves lying 
in the glade where they had come upon the 
three red pavilions. Their horses were crop- 
ping at the turf, beside them, and Sir Dinar’s 


THE LEGEND OF SIR DINAR 223 

horse stood in sight, a little way off. But 
Sir Dinar was already deep in the forest, 
twirling and spinning among the rotten 
leaves, and on his arm hung a corrupting 
corpse. For a whole day they sought him 
and found him not (for he heard nothing of 
their shouts) , and towards evening mounted 
and rode forward after the Sancgrael ; on 
which quest they died, all three, each in his 
turn. 

But Sir Dinar remained, and twirled and 
skipped till the body he held was a skeleton ; 
and still he twirled, till it dropped away 
piecemeal ; and yet again, till it was but a 
stain of dust on his ragged sleeve. Before 
this his hair was white and his face wizened 
with age. 

But on a day a knight in white armour 
came riding through the forest, leaning some- 
what heavily on his saddle-bow : and was 
aware of an old decrepit man that ran tow- 
ards him, jigging and capering as if for 
gladness, yet caught him by the stirrup and 
looked up with rheumy tears in his eyes. 

“ In God’s name, who art thou? ” asked 
the knight. He, too, was past his youth ; 
but his face shone with a marvellous glory. 

“ I am young Sir Dinar, that was made a 


224 


WANDERING HEATH 


knight of the Round Table but five days be- 
fore Pentecost. And I know thee. Thou 
art Sir Galahad, who shouldst win the Sanc- 
grael : therefore by Christ’s power rid me 
of this enchantment. ’ ’ 

‘‘I have not won it yet,” Sir Galahad 
answered, sighing. “Yet, poor comrade, I 
may do something for thee, though I cannot 
stay thy dancing.” 

So he stretched out his hand and touched 
Sir Dinar : and by his touch Sir Dinar be- 
came a withered leaf of the wood. And 
when mothers and nurses see him dancing 
before the wind, they tell this story of him 
to their children. 


II 


“FLOWING SOURCE” 

Master Simon’s inn, the Flowing 
Source” — “Good Entertainment for Man 
and Beast ” — leant over the riverside by the 
ferry, a mile and a half above Ponteglos 
town. The fresh water of Cuckoo River 
met the salt Channel tide right under its 
windows, by the wooden ladder where Mas- 
ter Simon chained his ferryboat. Fourteen 
miles inland, a brown trout-stream singing 
down from the moors, plunged over a ledge 
of rock into the cool depths of Cuckoo Val- 
ley. Thenceforward it ran by beds of sun- 
dew, water-mint, and asphodel, under woods 
so steeply converging that the traveller upon 
the ridges heard it as the trickle of water in 
a cavern. But just above Master Simons’ 
inn the valley widened out into arable and 
gray pasture land, and the river, too, wid- 
ened and grew deep enough to float up ves- 
sels of small tonnage at the spring-tides. In 

15 


226 


V/ANDERIKG HEATH 


summer, from the bow-window of his coffee- 
room, Master Simon could follow its course 
down through the meadows to the church- 
tower of Ponteglos and the shipping congre- 
gated there about the wharves, and watch in 
the middle distance the sails of a barge or 
shallow trading-ketch moving among the 
haymakers. But from November to March, 
when the floods were out, the Flowing 
Source ” stood above an inland sea, with a 
haystack or two for lesser islets. Then the 
river’s course could be told only by a line of 
stakes on which the wild-fowl rested. The 
meadows were covered. Only a few clumps 
of reed rose above the clapping water and 
shook in the northerly gales. And then, 
when no guests came for weeks together, and 
the salt spray crusted the panes so thickly 
that looking abroad became a weariness of 
the spirit. Master Simon would reach down 
his long gun from the chimney-piece and 
polish it, and having pulled on his wading- 
boots and wrapped a large woollen comforter 
round his throat and another round his head, 
would summon his tap-boy, unmoor the 
ferryboat, and go duck-shooting. For in 
winter birds innumerable haunt the riverside 
here — wild-duck, snipe, teal, and widgeon ; 


FLOWING SOURCE 


227 


(< 


»> 


curlews, field-fares, and plovers, both green 
and golden ; rooks, starlings, little white- 
rumped sandpiper ; herons from the upper 
woods and gulls from seaward. Master 
Simon had fine sport in the short days, and 
the inn might take care of itself, which it 
was perfectly well able to do. Its founda- 
tions rested on sunken piles of magnificent 
girth — “as stout as myself,” said Master 
Simon modestly — and on these it stood so 
high that even the great flood of ’fifty-nine 
had overlapped the kitchen threshold but 
once, at the top of a spring-tide with a 
northwesterly gale behind it ; and then had 
retreated within the hour. “ It didn’t put 
the fire out,” boasted Master Simon. 

He was proud of his inn, and for some 
very good reasons. To begin with, you 
would not find another such building if you 
searched England for a year. It consisted 
almost wholly of wood ; but of such wood. 
The story went that on a blowing afternoon 
in the late autumn of 1588 two Spanish 
galleons from the Great Armada — they had 
been driven right around Cape Wrath — 
came trailing up the estuary and took ground 
just above Ponteglos. Their crews landed 
and marched inland, and never returned. 


228 


wandering heath 


Some say the Cornishmen cut them off and 
slew them. For my part, I think it more 
likely that these foreigners found hospitality, 
and very wisely determined to settle in the 
country. Certain it is, you will find in the 
upland farms over Cuckoo Valley a race of 
folks with olive complexions, black curling 
hair and beards, and Southern names — 
Santo, Hugo, Jago, Bennett, Jose. ... 

At all events, the Spanyers (Spaniards) ' 
never came back to their galleons, which , 
lay in the ooze by the marsh meadows until \ 
the very birds forgot to fear them, and built 
in their rigging. By the Roles d’Oleron — 
which were, in effect, the maritime laws of 
that period — all wrecks or wreckage belonged 
to the Crown when neither an owner nor an 
I'.eir of a late owner could be found for it. 
Blit in those days the king’s law travelled 
lamely through Cornwall; so that when, in 
1605, these galleons were put up to auction 
and sold by the Lord of the Manor — who , 
happened to be High Sheriff — nobody in- ! 
qiiired very closely where the money went. 

It is more to the point that the timber of 
them was bought by one Master Blaise — 
never mind the surname ; he was an ancestor 
of Master Simon’S; and a well-to-do wool- : 


“FLOWING SOURCE” 229 

comber of Ponteglos. This Master Blaise 
already rented the ferry-rights by Flowing 
Source, and certain rights of fishery above 
and below ; and having a younger son to 
provide for, he conceived the happy notion 
of this hostelry beside the river. For ground- 
rent he agreed to carry each Michaelmas to 
the Lord of the Manor one penny in a silk 
I purse, and the lord’s bailiff, on bringing the 
receipt, was to take annually of Master Blaise 
! and his heirs one jack of ale of the October 
brewing and one smoke-cured salmon of not 
i less than fifteen pounds’ weight. These 
conditions having been duly signed, in the 
year 1606, Master Blaise laid the founda- 
tions of his inn upon the timbers of one gal- 
leon and set up the elm keelson of the other 
I for his roof-tree. Its stout ribs, curving out- 
wards and downwards from this magnificent 
balk, supported the carvel - built roof, so 
that the upper half of the building appeared 
— and indeed was a large inverted hull, dec- 
orated with dormer-windows, brick chim- 
neys, and a round pigeon-house surmounted 
by a gilded vane. The windows he took 
ready-made from the Spaniard’s bulging 
stern -works. And for signboard he hung 

out, between two bulging poop-lanterns, a 


230 


WANDERING HEATH 


large bituminous painting on panel, that had 
been found on board the larger galleon, and 
was supposed to represent the features of her 
patron. Saint Nicholas Prodaneli. But the 
site of the building had always been known 
as Flowing Source, and by this name and 
no other Master Blaise’s inn was called for 
over two hundred years. 

By this time its timber roof had clothed 
itself with moss upon the north side, and on 
the west the whole framework inclined over 
the river, as though the timbers of the old 
galleon regretted their proper element and 
strained toward it tenderly, quietly, persist- 
ently. But careful patching and repairing 
had kept the building to all appearance as 
stout as ever ; and any doubts of its stability 
were dispelled in a moment by a glance at 
Master Simon, the landlord. Master Simon’s 
age by parish register fell short of forty, but 
he looked at least ten years older : a slow 
man with a promising stomach and a very 
satisfactory balance at the bank ; a notable 
breeder of pigeons and fisher of eels. He 
could also brew strong ale, and knew exactly 
how salmon should be broiled! He had 
heard that the world revolves, and decided 
to stand still and let it come round to him. 


“ FLOWING SOURCE '' 


231 


Certainly a considerable number of its in- 
habitants found their way to the Flowing 
Source ’ ’ sooner or later. Marketers crossed 
the ferry and paused for a morning drink. 
In the cool of the day quiet citizens rambled 
up from Ponteglos with rod and line, or 
brought their families by boat on the high 
evening tide to eat cream and junket and sit 
afterward on the benches by the inn-door, 
watching the fish rise and listening to the 
song of the young people some way up 
stream. Painters came, too, and sketched 
the old inn, and sometimes stayed for a 
week, having tasted the salmon. Pigeon- 
breeders dropped in and smoked long pipes 
in the kitchen with Master Simon, and slow- 
ly matured bets and matches. And once or 
twice in the summer months a company of 
pilgrims would arrive — queer literary men in 
velveteen coats, who examined all the rooms 
and furniture as though they meant to make 
a bid for the inn complete ; who talked with 
outlandish tongues and ordered expensive 
dinners, and usually paid for them next morn- 
ing, rather to Master Simon’s surprise. It ap- 
peared that there had been once, in the time 
of Master Simon’s grandfather, a certain pot- 
boy at the Flowing Source ” who ran off 


2 32 WANDERING HEATH 

into the world and became a great poet ; and 
these pilgrimages were made in his honor. 
Master Simon found this story somehow very 
creditable to himself, and came in time to 
take almost as much pride in it as in his 
pigeons and broiled salmon . Regularly after 
dinner on these occasions he would exhibit 
an old pewter pint-pot to the pilgrims, and 
draw their attention to the following verse, 
scratched upon it — as he asserted — by the 
poet’s own hand : 

•iKIlbo bui26 beef bu^s bones, 

Wibo bugs lanb bugs stones, 

Wbo bugs e^as bugs sbels, 
aSut wbo bugs ale bugs notbing els. 

And the pilgrims feigned credulity according 
as they valued Master Simon’s opinion of 
their intelligence. 

But most welcome of all were the mer- 
chant-captains from Ponteglos, among whom 
custom had made it a point of honor to re- 
port themselves at the “Flowing Source” 
within twenty-four hours after dropping 
anchor by Ponteglos Quay. When or why 
or how the custom arose nobody was old 
enough to remember, but a master mariner 
would as soon have thought of sailing with- 


“ FLOWING SOURCE ” 


233 


out log or leadline as of putting in and out 
of Ponteglos without tasting Master Simon’s 
ale — “calling for orders,” as they put it. 
Master Simon had never climbed a sea-going 
ship except to shake hands with a friend and 
wish him good voyage and return to shore 
with the pilot; but the teak walls of his 
parlor were lined with charts of such very 
remote parts of the world, and his shelves 
with such a quantity of foreign china and 
marine curiosities, and he spoke so familiarly 
of Gallapagos, Batavia, Cape Verde, the 
Horn, the Straits of Magellan, and so forth, 
and would bring his telescope so knowingly 
to bear on the gilt weathercock over Ponte- 
glos church tower, that until you knew the 
truth you would have sworn half his life had 
been spent on the quarterdeck. And while 
the sea-captains — ^serious men, attired in blue 
cloth, wearing rings in their ears — sat and 
smoked canaster and other queer tobaccos in 
painted china pipes, and talked of countries 
whose very names conjured up visions of 
parrots, and carved idols, and sharks, and 
brown natives in flashing canoes. Master 
Simon would put a shrewd question or two 
and wag his head over the answers as a man 
who hears just what he expected. And 


234 


WANDERING HEATH 


sometimes toward the close of the sitting, if 
he knew his company very well, he w^ould 
reward them with his favorite and only song, 
the Golden Vanitee : 

‘ ‘ A ship I have got in the North Countree ^ 

And I had her christened the Golden Vanitee ; 

0, 1 fear she' s been taken by a Spanish Gal~a-lee^ 
As she sailed by the Lowlands low ! ” 

In some hazy way he had persuaded him- 
self that the Spanish galleon of the ballad was 
the very ship whose timbers overarched him 
and his audience ; and for the moment, be- 
ing himself inverted (so to speak) by the po- 
tency of his own singing, he blew out his 
chest and straddled out his thick calves and 
screwed up his eyes, quite as if his roof-tree 
were right-side-up once more in blue water, 
and he on deck beside the weather-rail. But 
the mood began to pass as soon as he bolted 
the front door behind his guests, and Ann 
the cook poured him out his last cup of 
mulled ale and withdrew with the saucepan. 
And another noon would find him seated 
under his leaning house-front, his eyes half- 
closed, his attention divided between the 
whisper of the tide and the murmur in the 
pigeon-cotes overhead, his body at ease and 
his soul content. His was a happy life — 


“ FLOWING SOURCE ” 


235 


or had been, but for two crumpled rose- 
leaves. To begin with, there were those 
confounded pot-boys. It puzzled Master 
Simon almost as much as it annoyed him ; 
he paid fair wages and passed for a good em- 
ployer ; but he could not keep a pot-boy for 
twelve months. As a matter of fact, I know 
the river to have been the bottom of the 
mischief — the river, and perhaps the talk of 
the ship-captains. It might satisfy Master 
Simon to sit and watch the salmon passing 
up in autumn toward their spawning beds, 
and rubbing, as they went, their scales 
against his landing-stage to clear them of 
the sea-lice ; to watch them and their young 
passing seaward in the early spring ; to 
watch and wait and spread his nets in the 
due season. But for the youngsters this rum 
ning water was a constant lure — the song of 
it and the dimple on it. It coaxed them, as 
it coaxed the old galleon, to lean over and 
listen. And the moment that listening be- 
came intolerable, they were off. Only one 
of them — the poet before mentioned — had 
ever expressed any desire to return and re- 
visit — 

“ The shining levels and the dazzled wave 
Emerging from his covert, errant long. 


236 


WANDERING HEATH 


In solitude descending by a vale 
Lost between uplands where the harvesters 
Pause in the swathe^ shading their eyes to watch 
Some barge or schooner stealing up from sea ; 
Themselves in sunset^ she a twilit ghost 
Parting the twilit woods . . . 

Ahy loving God ! 

Grant in the end this world may slip away 
With whisper of that water by the bows 
Of such a bark^ bearing me home — thy stars 
Breaking the gloom like kingfishers^ thy heights 
Golden with wheats thy waiting a7igels there 
Wearing the dear rough faces of my kin / ” 

I doubt if he meant it, any more than 
Virgil meant his fiumina atnem silvasque 
ingloriusd' At any rate, the public knew 
what was due to itself, and when the time 
came, gave the man a handsome funeral in 
Westminster Abbey. Among his pall-bearers 
walked the Prime Minister, the Commander- 
in-Chief, the President of the Royal Acade- 
my of Arts, and (as representing rural life) 
the Chief Secretary of Foreign Affairs. 

What else disturbed the placid current of 
Master Simon’s cogitations ? Why, this : 
he was the last of his race, and unmarried. 

For himself, he had no inclination to 
marry. But sometimes, as he shaved his 
chin of a morning, the reflection in his 


“ FLOWING SOURCE ” 237 

round mirror would suggest another. Was 
he not neglecting a public duty ? 

Now there dwelt down at Ponteglos a 
Mistress Prudence Waddilove, a widow, who 
kept the Pandora’s Box Inn on the quay — 
a very tidy business. Master Simon had 
known her long before she married the late 
Waddilove ; had indeed sat on the same 
form with her in infants’ school — ^she being 
by two years his junior, but always a trifle 
quicker of wit. He attended her husband’s 
funeral in a neighborly way, and, a week 
later, put on his black suit again and went 
down — still in a neighbourly way — to offer 
his condolence. Mistress Prudence received 
him in the best parlor, which smelt damp 
and chilly in comparison with the little room 
behind the bar. Master Simon remarked 
that she must be finding it lonely. Where- 
upon she wept. 

Master Simon suggested that he, for his 
part, had tried pigeon -breeding, and found 
that it alleviated solitude in a wonderful 
manner. There’s my tumblers. If you 
like. I’ll bring you down a pair. They’re 
pretty to watch. Of course, a husband is 
different ” 

“ Of course,” Mistress Prudence assented, 


238 


WANDERING HEATH 


her grief too recent to allow a smile even at 
the picture of the late Waddilove (a man of 
full habit) cleaving the air with frequent 
somersaults. She added, not quite inconse- 
quently : 

“ He is an angel.” 

“ Of course,” said Master Simon, in his 
turn. 

‘‘ But I think,” she went on quite incon- 
sequently, “ I would rather have a pair of 
carriers. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Now, why in the world ? ’ ’ wondered 
Master Simon. He kept carrier pigeons, to 
be sure. He kept pigeons of every sort — 
tumblers, pouters, carriers, Belgians, dra- 
gons . . . the subdivisions, when you 

came to them, were endless. But the carriers 
were by no means his show-birds. He kept 
them mainly for the convenience of Ann the 
cook. Ann had a cunning eye for a pigeon, 
and sometimes ventured a trifle of her savings 
on a match ; and though in his masculine 
pride he never consulted her. Master Simon 
always felt more confident on hearing that 
Ann had put money on his bird. Now, 
when a match took place at some distant town 
or flying ground, Ann would naturally be 
anxious to learn the result as quickly as pos- 


“ FLOWING SOURCE ” 


239 


sible ; and Master Simon, finding that the 
suspense affected her cookery, had fallen into 
the habit of taking a hamper of carriers to all 
distant meetings and speeding them back to 
“ Flowing Source ” with tidings of his fort- 
une. Apart from this office — which they 
performed well enough — he took no special 
pride in them. The offer of a pair of his pet 
tumblers, worth their weight in gold, had 
cost him an effort ; and when Mistress Pru- 
dence, ordinarily a clear-headed woman, de- 
clared that she preferred carriers, she could 
hardly have astonished him more by asking 
for a pair of stock -doves. 

‘‘ Oh, certainly,” he answered, and went 
home and thought it over. Women were a 
puzzle ; but he had a dim notion that if he 
could lay hand on the reason why Mistress 
Prudence preferred ordinary carriers to prize 
tumblers, he would hold the key to some of 
the secrets of the sex. He thought it over 
for three days, during which he smoked 
more tobacco than was good for him. At 
about four o’clock in the afternoon of the 
third day, a smile enlarged his face. He set 
down his pipe, smacked his thigh, stood up, 
sat down again, and began to laugh. He 
laughed slowly and deliberately — not loudly 


240 


WANDERING HEATH 


— for the greater part of that evening, and 
woke up twice in the night and shook the 
bedclothes into long waves with his mirth. 

Next morning he took two carriers from 
the cote, shut them in a hamper, and rowed 
down to Ponteglos with his gift. But Mrs. 
Waddilove was not at home. She had 
started early by van for Tregarrick (said the 
waitress at the Pandora’s Box) on business 
connected with her husband’s will. “ No 
hurry at all,” said Master Simon. He slipped 
a handful of Indian corn under the lid, and 
left the hamper “ with his respects.” 

Then he rowed home, and spent the next 
two days after his wont ; the only observable 
difference being the position of his garden 
chair. It stood as a rule under the shadow 
of the broad eaves, but now Master Simon 
ordered the tap-boy to carry it out and set it 
by a rustic table close to the river’s brink, 
whence, as he smoked, he could keep com- 
fortable watch upon the pigeon-cote. 

“ You’ll catch a sunstroke,” said Ann the 
cook. “ I hope you’re not beginning to 
forget how to take care of yourself. ’ ’ 

Well, I hope so too,” Master Simon an- 
swered ; but did not budge. 

On the morning of the third day, however. 


FLOWING SOURCE ” 


241 


he saw that which made him step indoors 
and mount to the attic under the cote. Hav- 
ing opened with much caution a trap-door in 
the roof, he slipped an arm out and captured 
a carrier pigeon. 

The bird carried a note folded small and 
bound under its wing with a thread of silk. 
Master Simon opened the note and read : 

‘ ‘ If you loves me as I loves you, 

Ho knife can cui our loves in two'' 

He had prepared himself for a hearty 
chuckle; but he broke out with a profuse 
perspiration instead. ‘‘Oh, this is hustling 
a man ! ” he ingeminated, staring round the 
empty attic like a rabbit seeking a convenient 
hole. “ Not three weeks buried ! ” he added, 
with another groan, and began to loosen his 
neck-cloth. 

While thus engaged, he heard a flutter 
above the trap-door, and a second pigeon 
alighted, with a second note, also bound with 
a silken thread. 

“ Lor-a-mercy ! ” gasped Master Simon. 

But the second note was written in a dif- 
ferent hand, and ran as follows : 

‘ ‘ / could die of shame. It was all that 
hussy of a girl. She did it for a joke. I'll 
16 


242 WANDERING HEATH 

joke her. But what will you be thinking ? — 
P. W.” 

Master Simon rode nown to Ponteglos 
that very afternoon, and the two carriers went 
back with him. Happiness seemed to have 
shaken its wings and quite departed from 
Pandora’s Box ; but a twinkle of something 
not entirely unlike hope lurked in the corners 
of the waitress’s eyes — albeit their lids were 
red and swollen — as she ushered Master 
Simon into the best parlor. 

“What can you be thinking of me?” 
began the widow. Her eyes w^ere red and 
swollen, too. 

“I’ve brought back the pigeons.” 

“ I can never bear the sight of them 
again ! ’ ’ 

“ You might begin different, you know,” 
suggested Master Simon, affably; “some 
little message about the weather, for instance. 
Have you given that girl warning to leave ? ” 

“You see. I’m so lonely here . . .” 

Some three months after this, and on an 
exceptionally fine morning in September, 
Master Simon put Harmony, his celebrated 
almond hen, into her travelling hamper, and 
marched over to the cross-roads to take coach 


FLOWING SOURCE ” 


243 


! for Illogan, in the mining district, where the 
! matches for the championship cup were to 
! be flown that year. 

Now Ann the cook had ventured no less 
than five pounds upon Harmony. Five 
I pounds represented a half of her annual 
wage, and a trifle less than half of her annual 
savings. Therefore she spent the greater 
part of the following afternoon at her win- 
I dow, gazing westward in no small perturba- 
tion of spirit. 

It wanted a few minutes to five when a 
carrier pigeon came travelling across the 
zenith, shot downwards suddenly, and alight- 
ed on the roof Ann climbed to the trap- 
door and put out a hand. The bird was 
preening his feathers, and allowed himself to 
be taken easily. 

In circumstances less agitating Ann had 
not failed to observe that the thread about 
the messenger’s wing was not of the kind 
that Master Simon used. But her eyes 
opened wide as they fell on the handwriting, 
and still wider as she read : 

^ ‘ It is all for the best, perhaps. If only 
people have not begun to talk . — Prudence.” 

A second messenger arrived toward even- 
ing with word of Harmony’s success. But 


244 


WANDERING HEATH 


"the news hardly relaxed Ann’s brow, which 
kept a pensive contraction even when her 
master arrived next evening, and poured out 
her winnings on the table from the silver 
challenge cup. 

She wore this frown at intervals for a fort- 
night, and all the while maintained an un- 
usual silence which puzzled Master Simon. 
Then one morning he heard her in the 
kitchen scolding the tap-boy with all her 
pristine heartiness. That night, after mull- 
ing her master’s ale, she turned at the door, 
saucepan in hand, and coughed to attract 
attention. 

Well, Ann ; what is it ? ” 

You’ve been philanderin’.” 

Hey ! Upon my word, Ann ” 

Ann produced the Widow Waddilove’s 
note and flattened it out under Master 
Simon’s eyes. And Master Simon blushed 
painfully. 

‘ ‘ Are you goin’ to marry the woman ? ’ ’ 
Ann demanded. 

I think not.” 

I reckon you will.” 

Well, you see, there has been a hitch. 
She won’t leave the ‘Pandora’s Box,’ and 
I’m not going to budge from ‘ Flowing 


FLOWING SOURCE ” 


245 


! Source.’ If a woman won’t put herself out 
to that extent — besides, she cooks no better 
than you.” 

Not so well. You wasn’t thinking, by 
any chance, o’ marryin’ me 

‘‘Ann, you’re perfectly brazen! Well, 
no ; to tell you the plain truth, I wasn’t.” 

1 “ That’s all right ; because I’ve gone and 

i promised myself to a young farmer up the 
I valley. ’ ’ 

“ What’s his name? ” 

“I shan’t tell you; for the reason that 
I’ve a second to fall back on, if I find on 
acquaintance that the first won’t do. But 
first or second. I’ll marry one or t’other 
at the month-end, and so I give you 
notice.” 

Master Simon sighed. “Well! well! I 
must get on as best I can with Tom for a 
while.” Tom was the tap-boy. 

“ Tom’s going, too. I bullied him so 
this morning that he means to give notice to- 
morrow; that is, if he don’t save himself 
the trouble by running off to sea. ’ ’ 

“ The twelfth in five years ! ” ejaculated 
Master Simon, stopping his pipe viciously. 

“And small blame to them. Married 
man or mariner — that’s what a boy is bom 


246 


WANDERING HEATH 


for. Better dare wreck or wedlock than sit 
here and talk about both. Take my advice, 
master, and marry the widow.” 

Ann carried out her own matrimonial 
programme, at any rate, with spirit and de- 
termination. Finding the first young farm- 
er satisfactory, she espoused him at the end 
of the month, and turned her back on “ Flow- 
ing Source. ’ ’ And Tom the tap-boy fulfilled 
her prophecy and ran away to sea. And the 
old inn leaned after him until its timbers 
creaked. And the autumn floods rose and 
covered the meadows. 

Master Simon sat and smoked, and made 
his own bed, and accomplished some ex- 
ecrable cookery in the intervals of oiling his 
duck-gun. Even duck-shooting becomes a 
weariness when a man has to manage gun 
and punt single-handed. One afternoon he 
abandoned the sport in an exceedingly bad 
temper, and pulled up to jaw's of Cuckoo 
Valley. Here he landed, and after an 
hour’s trudge in the marshy bottoms had the 
luck to knock over two brace of \voodcock. 

He rowed back with his spoil, and was 
making fast to the ferry steps, when a 
thought struck him. He shipped the pad- 


“ FLOWING SOURCE ” 


247 


dies again, and pulled down to Ponteglos. 
The short day was closing, and already a 
young moon glimmered on the floods. 

The woodcock were cooked to a turn; 
juicier birds never reclined on toast. The 
waitress removed the cloth and returned 
with a kettle ; retired and returned again 
with a short-necked bottle, a glass and 
spoon, sugar, a nutmeg, and a lemon ; re- 
tired with a twinkle in her eye. 

To fortify you,” said Mistress Prudence, 
rubbing a lump of sugar gently on the lemon- 
rind. 

“The night air,” Master Simon mur- 
mured. 

“Against the damp house you’re going 
back to,” the lady corrected. 

“ You talk without giving it a trial.” 

“ As you talk, in your parlor, of deep-sea 
voyages.” 

“ As a ship’s captain you would respect 
me, perhaps ? ’ ’ 

“ No, for you haven’t the head. But I 
should like your pluck. If I saw you setting 
off for sea in earnest, I would run out and 
give you a chance to steer a woman instead 
of a ship. You would find her safer.” 


248 


WANDERING HEATH 


Master Simon emptied his glass, rose, and 
wound his great comforter about hi$ neck. 
The widow saw him to the door. 

‘‘You’re a very obstinate woman,” he 
said. 

And with this he unmoored his boat and 
rowed resolutely homeward. A strong wind 
came piping down on the back of a strong 
tide, and Master Simon arched his shoulders 
against it. 

“ Married man or mariner,” it piped, as 
he rounded the first bend. 

“ I know my own mind, I believe,” said 
Master Simon to himself ; “ there’s as good 
fish in the sea as everjcame out of it ; and for 
salmon ‘ Flowing Source ’ will beat Christ- 
church any day. I’ve always maintained.” 

“Married man or mariner,” piped the 
wind in the words of Ann the cook. 

Master Simon pulled his left paddle hard 
and rounded the second bend. 

“ Married man or mar ” 

Crash ! 

His heels flew up and his head struck the 
bottom boards. Then, in a moment, the 
boat was gone, and a rush of water sang in 
his ears and choked him. He saw a black 
shadow overhanging, and clutched at it. 


FLOWING SOURCE ” 249 

Mistress Prudence stood in her doorway 
on the quay, as Master Simon had left her. 
In the room above, the waitress blew out her 
candle, drew up the blind, and opened her 
window to the moonlight. 

Selina ! ” the mistress called. 

Selina fhrust out her head. 

“ What’s that coming down the river ? ” 

A black, unshapely mass was moving 
swiftly down towards the quay. 

I think ’tis a haystack,” Selina whis- 
pered, and then, ** Lord save us all, there’s 
a man on it ! ” 

^‘A man?” cried the widow, shrilly. 
“ What man ? ” 

A voice answered the question, calling for 
help out of the river — a voice that she 
knew. 

“ What is it ? ” she called back. 

‘‘ I think,” quavered Master Simon, I 
think ’tis the roof o’ ‘ Flowing Source ’ ! ” 

Mistress Prudence ran down the quay 
steps, cast off the first boat that lay handy, 
and pulled towards the dark mass sweep- 
ing seaward. As it crossed ahead of her 
bows, she dropped the paddles, ran to the 
painter, and flung it forward with ail her 
might. 


250 


WANDERING HEATH 


The ^‘Pandora’s Box Inn” stands on 
Ponteglos Quay to this day. And all that is 
left of ^‘Flowing Source ” hangs on the wall 
of its best parlour — four dark oak timbers 
forming a frame around a portrait, the por- 
trait of a woman of middle age and com- 
fortable countenance. In the right-hand 
top-corner of the picture, in letters of faded 
gold, runs the legend — 

VXOR BONA INSTAR NAVIS 


EXPERIMENTS 





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A YOUNG MAN’S DIARY 

Monday^ Sept, ^thy 189 — . I am one year 
old to-day. 

I imagine that most people regard their 
first birthday as something of an event; a 
harvest-home of innocence, touched with I 
know not how delicate a bloom of virginal 
anticipation; of emotion too volatile for 
analysis, or perhaps eluding analysis by its 
very simplicity. But whatever point the 
festival might have had for me was rudely 
destroyed by my parents, who chose this day 
for jolting me back to London in a railway- 
carriage. We have just arrived home from 
Newquay, Cornwall, where we have been 
spending the summer holidays for the sake 
of my health, as papa has not scrupled to 
blurt out, once or twice, in my presence. 

There is a strain of coarseness in papa; 
or perhaps I should say — for the impression 
it leaves is primarily negative, as of some- 


254 


WANDERING HEATH 


thing manqut — an incompleteness in the sen- 
sitive equipment. As yet it can hardly be 
said to embarrass me ; though I foresee a 
time when I shall have to apologise for it to 
strangers. There is nothing absurd in this. 
If a man may take pride in his ancestry, why 
may he not apologise for his papa? My 
papa will be forgiven, for he is so splendidly 
healthy ! He left our compartment at Bris- 
tol and did not return again until the train 
stopped at Swindon. In the interval, mam- 
ma took me from nurse and endeavoured to 
hush me to sleep by singing — 

Father's gone a-hunting. . . 

which was untrue, for he had merely with- 
drawn to a smoking compartment. My 
nurse — an egregious female — had previously 
remarked, ‘‘The dear child do take such 
notice of the puff puff! ” As a matter of 
fact, I took no interest in the locomotive ; 
but I had observed it sufficiently to be sure 
that it offered no facilities for hunting. A 
few months ago I might have accepted the 
explanation : for our family has affinity with 
what is vulgarly termed the upper class, and 
my father inherits its crude and primitive in- 
stincts ; among them a passion for the chase. 


A YOUNG MAN’S DIARY 


255 


His appearance, as he returned to our com- 
partment, oppressed me for the hundredth 
time with a sense of its superabundant and 
even riotous vitality. His cheeks were glow- 
ing, and his whiskers sprouted like cabbages 
on either side of his otherwise clean-shaven 
face. An indefinable flavour of the sea 
mingled with the odour of tobacco which he 
diffused about the carriage. It seemed as if 
the virile breezes of that shaggy Cornish 
coast still blew about him ; and I felt again 
that constriction of the chest from which I 
had suffered during the past month. 

After all, it is good to be back in London ! 
Newquay, with its obvious picturesqueness, 
its violent colouring, its sands, rocks, break- 
ers and bye-laws regulating the costume of 
bathers, merely exasperated my nerves. How 
far more subtle the appeal of these grey and 
dun-coloured opacities, these tent-cloths of 
fog pressed out into uncouth, dumbly pa- 
thetic shapes by the struggle for existence 
that seethes below it always — always ! De- 
cidedly I must begin to-morrow to practise 
walking. It seems a necessary step towards 
acquainting myself with the inner life of these 
toiling millions, which must be well worth 
knowing. Papa, on arriving at our door. 


256 


WANDERING HEATH 


plunged into an altercation with a cab-tout. 
What a man ! And yet sometimes I could 
find it in my heart to envy his robustness, his 
buoyancy. A Huntley and Palmer’s Nursery 
Biscuit in a little hot water has somewhat 
quieted my nerves, which suffered cruelly 
during the scene. I believe I shall sleep to- 
night. 

Tuesday^ B>th. The beginning of Sturm 
und Drang ; I am learning to walk. More- 
over I have surprised in myself, during the 
day, a tendency to fall in love with my nurse. 
On the pretence that walking might give me 
bandy legs she caught me up and pressed me 
to her bosom. We have no affinities ; in- 
deed beyond cleanliness and a certain unrea- 
soning honesty, she can be said to possess no 
attributes at all. I am convinced that a seri- 
ous affection for her could only flourish on 
an intellectual atrophy ; and yet for a while 
I abandoned myself. We went out into the 
bright streets together, and it was delicious 
to be propelled by her strong arms. We 
halted, on our way to Kensington Gardens, 
to listen to a German band. The voluptu- 
ous waltz -music affected me strangely, and I 
was sorry that, owing to my position in the 
vehicle, her face was hidden from me. In 


A YOUNG MAN'S DIARY 257 

the midst of my ecstasy, a square object on 
wheels came round the street corner. It was 
painted a bright vermilion and bore the ini- 
tials of K.V. — “ Kytherea Victrix ! ” I cried 
in my heart ; but as it passed, at a slow pace, 
it rained a flood of tears upon the dusty road- 
way. For some time after I sat in a strange 
calm, but with a sensation in the region of 
the diaphragm as if I had received a severe 
blow ; and in truth I had. But the shock 
was salutary, and by the time that nurse and 
I w^ere seated together by the Round Pond, 
I w^as able to listen to her talk without a 
quiver of the eyelids. Poor soul ! What 
malefic jest of Fate led her to select the story 
of Georgie-Porgie ? 

Georgie-Pergie^ ptidding and pie. . . 

It is as irrelevant as life itself. 

“ Georgie-Porgie, pudding and pie. 

Kissed the girls and vmde them cry. . 

Why pudding? Why pie? Why — if you 
ask this — wfliy any realism ? These concrete 
accidents solidify a thin and abstract love- 
story for our human comprehension. Or are 
they, perchance, symbolical ? Georgie- 
17 


WANDERING HEATH 


258 

Porgie’s promises, like, pie-crust, were made 
to be broken. He — 

“ Kissed the girls and made them cry. 

When the girls came out to play^ 
Georgie-Porgie ran away." 

— Simple solution of the difficulty ! And I 
am already learning to walk ! Poor woman ! 

Wednesday y ()th. I am troubled whenever 
I reflect on the subject of heredity. It ter- 
rifies me to think that I may grow up to re- 
semble papa. Mamma, too, is hardly less a 
savage : she wore diamonds in her hair when 
she came up to the nursery, late last night, to 
look at me. She believed that I was asleep ; 
but I wasn’t, and I never in my life felt so 
sorry that I couldn’t speak. The appalling 
barbarism of those trinkets ! 

It is raining this afternoon — the sky weep- 
ing like a. Corot — and I am forced to stay 
indoors and affect an interest in Noah and 
his ark ! Nurse’s father came up and ac- 
costed her in the Gardens this morning. 
He is one of the Submerged Tenth, and ex- 
tremely interesting. On the threat of run- 
ning off with me and pitching me neck and 
crop into the Round Pond, he extracted 
half-a-crown from her. She gave him the 


A YOUNG MAN’S DIARY 


259 


coin docilely. I found myself almost hop- 
ing that he would raise his price, that I 
might discover how much the poor creature 
was ready to sacrifice for my sake. She is 
looking pale this afternoon ; but this may be 
because I cried half the night and kept her 
awake. The fact is, I was cutting a tooth. 
I have given up learning to walk ; but have 
some idea of trying somnambulism instead. 

Thursday, 10th. To-day I was spanked 
for the first time. When I have stopped 
crying, I mean to analyse my sensations. 




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11 


THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH 

Extract from the Alemoirs of Gabriel 
Foot, Highwayman 

Our plan of attack upon Nanscarne House 
was a simple one. 

The old baronet,. Sir Harry Dinnis, took 
a just pride in his silver-ware. Some of it 
dated from Elizabeth : for Sir Harry’s great- 
great-grandfather, as the unhappy alternative 
of melting it down for King Charles, had 
taken arms against his Majesty and come 
out of the troubles of those times with wealth 
and credit. 

The house, too, was Elizabethan, shaped 
like the letter L, and, like that letter, facing 
eastward. The longer arm, which looked 
down the steep slope of the park, contained 
the entrance-hall, chapel, dining-hall, prin- 
cipal living-rooms, and kitchens. 

The ground-floor of the other (and to us 


262 


WANDERING HEATH 


more important) arm was taken up by the 
housekeeper’s rooms, audit-room and various 
offices, the butler’s bedroom, and the strong- 
room, where the plate lay. On the upper 
floor a long gallery full of pictures ran from 
end to end, with a line of doors on the 
southern side, all opening into bedrooms, 
except one which led to the back -stairs. 

Now, properly speaking, the strong-room 
was no strong-room at all. It had an ordi- 
nary deal door and an ordinary country-made 
lock. But in some ways it was very strong 
indeed. The only approach to it on the 
ground-floor lay through the butler’s bed- 
room, of which you might call it but a cup- 
board. It had no window, and could not 
therefore be attacked from outside. The 
very small amount of light that entered it 
filtered through a pane of glass in the wall 
of the back-staircase, which ran up close 
behind. 

I have said enough, I hope, for any re- 
flective man to draw the conclusion that, 
since we desired no unpleasantness with the 
butler (a man between fifty and sixty, and 
notoriously incorruptible), our only plan 
was to make an entrance upstairs by the long 
window at the end of the picture gallery, or 


THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH 263 


corridor — whichever you choose to call it — 
descend the back-stairs, remove the pane of 
glass from the wall, and gain the strong- 
room through the opening. 

The house was dark from end to end, and 
the stable clock had just chimed the quarter 
after midnight, when I went up the ladder. 
I never looked for much carefulness in this 
honest country household, but I did expect 
to spend twenty minutes on the heavy lead- 
work of the lower panes, and it seemed as 
good as a miracle to find the lattice unlatched 
and opening to the first gentle pull. I pressed 
it back ; hitched it under a stem of ivy that 
the wind might not slam it after me ; and, 
signalling down to Jimmy at the foot of the 
ladder to wait for my report, pulled myself over 
the sill and dropped softly into the gallery. 

And then somebody stepped quickly from 
behind the heavy window curtain, reached 
out and shut the lattice smartly behind me, 
and said — 

Show a light, Jenkins, and let us have 
a look at the gentleman.” 

Though it concerned my neck, I was 
taken too quickly aback to stir ; but stood 
lik? a stuck pig, while the butler fumbled 
wi;h his tinder-box. 


264 


WANDERING HEATH 


Light all the candles.” 

“If it please you, Sir Harry,” Jenkins 
answered, puffing at the tinder. 

The first thing I saw by the blue light of 
the brimstone match was the barrel of old 
Sir Harry’s pistol glimmering about six 
inches from my nose. On my left stood a 
long-legged footman, also with a pistol. But 
all this, though discomposing, was no more 
than I had begun to expect. What really 
startled me, as old Jenkins lit the candles, 
was the sight of two women standing a few 
paces off, beneath a tall picture of a gentle- 
man with a big lace collar. One of them, 
a short woman with a bunchy shape, I rec- 
ognised for the housekeeper. The other I 
guessed as quickly to be Sir Harry’s daugh- 
ter, Mistress Kate — a tall and slender young 
lady, dark-haired, and handsome as any man 
could wish. She was wrapped in a long 
travelling-cloak, the hood of which fell a 
little off her shoulders, allowing a glimpse 
of white satin. A train of white satin 
reached below the cloak, and coiled about 
her pretty feet. 

Now, the change from darkness to very 
bright light — for Jenkins went down the 
gallery lighting candle after candle, as if for 


THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH 265 


a big reception — made ns all wink a bit. 
And excitement would account for the white 
of the young lady’s cheeks — I dare say I had 
turned pretty pale myself. But it did not 
seem to me to account for the look of sheer 
blank astonishment — no, it was more than 
this ; a wild kind of wonder would be nearer 
the mark — that came into her eyes and 
stayed there. And I didn’t quite see why 
she should put a hand suddenly against the 
wainscot, and from sickly white go red as 
fire and then back to white again. If they 
were sitting up for housebreakers, I was de- 
cidedly a better-looking one than they had 
any right to expect. The eyes of the others 
were fastened on me. I was the only one 
to take note of the girl’s behaviour : and I 
declare I spared a second from the consider- 
ation of my own case to wonder what the 
deuce was the matter with her. 

“ Well, upon my soul ! ” cried Sir Harry, 
with something between a laugh and a sniff 
of disgust ; and the footman on the other 
side of me echoed it with a silly cackle. 

He certainly doesn’t look as if he came 
from Bath ! ” 

“Sir,” I expostulated — for when events 
seem likely to prove overwhelming, I usually 


266 


WANDERING HEATH 


find myself clutching at my original respect- 
ability — Sir, although the force of circum- 
stances has brought me thus low, I am by 
birth and education a gentleman. Having 
told you this, I trust that you will remember 
it, even in the heat of your natural resent- 
ment.” 

‘‘You speak almost as prettily as you 
write,” he answered scornfully, pulling a 
letter from his pocket. 

“This is beyond me,” thought I; for of 
course I knew it could be no letter of mine. 
Besides, a glance told me that I had never 
set eyes on the paper or handwriting before. 
I think my next remark showed self-posses- 
sion. “ Would you be kind enough to ex- 
plain ? ” I asked. 

“ I rather think that should be your busi- 
ness,” said he; and faith, I allowed the 
justice of that contention, awkward as it 
was. But he went on, “ It astonishes you, 
I dare say, to see this letter in my hand ? ’ ’ 

It did. I acknowledged as much with a 
bow. 

He began to read in an affected mimick- 
ing voice, “ My ever-loved Kate, since your 
worthy but wrong-headed father ’ ’ 

“Father!^’ It sounded like an echo. It 


THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH 267 


came from the young lady, who had sprung 
forward indignantly, and was holding out a 
hand for the letter. “ The servants ! Have 
you not degraded me enough ? ’ ’ She 
stamped her foot. 

The old gentleman folded up the letter 
again, and gave it into her hand with a 
cold bow. She was handing it to me — Oh, 
the unfathomable depth of woman ! — when 
he interfered. 

“ For your own delectation if you will, 
miss ; but as your protector I must ask you 
not to give it back. ’ ’ 

He turned towards me again. As he did 
so, I caught over his shoulder, or fancied I 
caught, a glance from Miss Kate that was at 
once a warning and an appeal. The next 
moment her eyes were bent shamefast upon 
the floor. I began to divine. 

Said I, If that’s a sample of your man- 
ner towards your daughter, even you, in 
your cooler moments, can hardly wonder 
that she chooses another protector.” 

‘‘Protector!” he repeated, lifting his 
eyebrows ; and that infernal footman cackled 
again. 

“ If you can’t behave with common po- 
liteness to a lady,” I put in smartly, “ you 


268 


WANDERING HEATH 


might at least exhibit enough of rude intelli- 
gence to lay hold of an argument that’s as 
plain as the nose on your face I ” 

Gently, my good sir ! ” said he. Do 
you know that, if I choose, I can march you 
off to gaol for a common housebreaker ? ’ ’ 

I should think I did know it — a plaguy 
sight better than he ! 

‘‘To begin with,” he went on, “you 
look like one, for all the world. ’ ’ 

This was sailing too close for my liking. 
“Old gentleman,” said I, “you are 
wearisomely dull. Possibly I had better 
explain at length. To be frank, then, I 
had counted, in case of failure, to avoid 
all scandal to your daughter’s name. I liad 
hoped (you will excuse me) to have carried 
her off and evaded you until I could present 
myself as her husband. If baffled in this, I 
proposed to make my escape as a common 
burglar surprised upon your premises. It 
seems to me,” I wound up, including the 
three servants with an indignant sweep of 
the arm, “ that you might well have emu- 
lated my delicacy ! As it is, I must trouble 
you to recognise it.” 

“Heaven send,” I added to myself, 
“ that the real inamorato keeps his bungling 


THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH 269 


foot out of this till I get clear ! ’ ’ And I 
reflected with much comfort that he was 
hardly likely to make an attempt upon prem- 
ises so brilliantly lit up. 

*^ln justice to my daughter’s taste,” re- 
plied Sir Harry, ‘‘I am willing to believe 
vou looked something less like a gaol-bird 
len she met you in the Pump Room at 
iath. You have fine clothes in your port- 
manteau no doubt, and I sincerely trust they 
make all the difference to your appearance. 
But a fine suit is no expensive outfit for the 
capture of an heiress. You may be the 
commonest of adventurers. How do I 
know, even, what right you have to the 
name you carry ? ’ ’ 

If he didn’t, it was still more certain that 
I didn’t. Indeed he had a conspicuous ad- 
vantage over me in knowing what that 
name was. This very painful difficulty had 
hardly presented itself, however, before the 
girl’s wit smoothed it away. She spoke up 
— looking as innocent as an angel, too. 

Captain Fitzroy Pilkington could add no 
lustre to his name, father, by giving it tome. 
His family is as good as our own, and his 
name is one to be proud of. ’ ’ 

“So it is, my dear,” thought I, “if I 


270 


WANDERING HEATH 


can only remember it. So it’s Captain 
Fitzroy Pilkington I am — and from Bath. 
Decidedly I should have taken some time in 
guessing it.” 

I suppose, sir, I may take it for granted 
you have not brought your credentials here 
tonight?” said the old boy, with a grim 
smile. 

It was lucky he had not thought of search- 
ing my pockets for them. 

“ Scarcely, sir,” I answered, smHing too 
and catching his mood ; and then thought I 
would play a bold card for freedom. ‘ ‘ Come, 
come, sir,” I said ; “I have tried to deceive 
you, and you have enjoyed a very adequate 
revenge. Do not prolong this interview to 
the point of inflicting torture on two hearts 
whose only crime is that of loving too ardent- 
ly. You have your daughter. Suffer me to 
return to the inn in the village, and in the 
morning I will call on you with my creden- 
tials and humbly ask for her hand. If, on 
due examination of my history and circum- 
stances, you see fit to refuse me — why then 
you make two lovers miserable : but I give 
you my word — the word of a Fitzroy Pilk- 
ington — that I will respect that decision. 
‘ Parcius junctas quatiam fenestras ; ’ or. 


THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH ' 271 

rather, I will discontinue the practice alto- 
gether.” 

“ William,” said Sir Harry, shortly, to 
the footman, “show Mr. Pilkington to the 
door. Will you take your ladder away with 
you, sir, or will you call for it to-mor- 
row? ” 

“ To-morrow will do,” I said, airily, and 
stepping across to Mistress Kate I took 
her hand and raised it as if for a kiss. 
Her fingers gave mine an appreciative 
squeeze. 

‘ ‘ But who in the world are you ? ’ ’ she 
whispered. 

“ I think,” said I, bending over her hand, 
“ I have fairly earned the right to withhold 
that.” 

Sir Harry bowed a stiff good-night to me, 
and William, the footman, took a candle and 
led the way along the gallery and down the 
great staircase to the front door. While he 
undid the chain and bolts I was thinking that 
he would be all the better for a kick ; and as 
he drew aside to let me pass I took him 
quickly by the collar, spun him round, and 
gave him one. A flight of a dozen steps led 
down from the front door, and he pitched 
clean to the bottom. Running down after, 


272 


WANDERING HEATH 


I skipped over his prostrate body and walked 
briskly away in the darkness, whistling and 
feeling better. 

I went round the end of the gallery wing, 
just to satisfy myself that Jimmy had got 
away with the ladder, and then I struck 
across the plantation in the direction of the 
village. The June day was breaking before 
I turned out of the woods into the high-road, 
and already the mowers were out and tramp- 
ing to their work. But in the porchway of 
the village inn — called the ^‘Well-diggers’ 
Arms” — whatever they may be — I sur- 
prised a cockneyfied groom in the act of 
kissing a maiden who, having a milk-pail 
in either hand, could not be expected to 
resist. 

“ H’m,” said I to the man, “ I am sorry 
to appear inopportunely, but I have a mes- 
sage for your master.” 

The maiden fled. “And who the doose 
may you be?” asked the groom, eying me 
up and down. 

“I think,” I answered, “it will be 
enough for you that I come from Nanscarne. 
You were late there. Oh, yes,” I went on 
sharply, for fellows of this class have a knack 
of irritating me, ‘ ‘ and I have a message for 


THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH 


273 


your master which I’ll trouble you to deliver 
when he comes down to breakfast. You 
will tell him, if you please, that Sir Harry 
was expecting him last night, and the lights 
he saw lit in the long gallery were there for 
his reception. You w'on’t forget? ” 

Who sent you here? ” the fellow asked. 
On second thoughts,” I continued, 

you had better go in and wake Captain 
Fitzroy Pilkington up at once. He will 
pardon you when he has my message, 
for Sir Harry’s temper is notoriously impa- 
tient.” 

And with that I turned and left him, for 
it was high time to find out how Jimmy had 
been faring. The past night’s experience 
must have given him a shock, and I reckoned 
to give him another. I wasn’t disappointed 
either. 

I walked leisurely down the village street, 
then crossed the hedge and doubled back 
on the high moors. At length, drawing 
near the old gravel -pit, where we had fixed 
to meet in case of separation, I dropped on 
all -fours and so came up to the edge and 
gave a whistle. 

Jimmy was sitting with his back to me, 
and about to cut a hunch of bread to eat 
18 


274 


WANDERING HEATH 


with his cold bacon for breakfast. Instead, 
he cut his thumb, and jumped up, singing 
out — 

S’ help me, but I never looked to see 
you again outside o’ the dock! ” 

No more you did,” said I ; and climb- 
ing down and sitting on a gravel-heap beside 
him, I told him all the story. 

And now, Jimmy,” I wound up, you 
must guess what I’m going to do.” 

I don’t need to,” said he. I know.” 

I wager you don’t.” 

I wager I do.” 

^‘Well, then. I’m going back. Was that 
what you guessed ? ’ ’ 

I think you will not.” 

Ah, but I will,” said I. I swore by 
the blood of a Fitzroy Pilkington I’d be 
back in the morning, and I can’t retreat 
from so tremendous an oath as that. Back 
I mean to go. As for the real Captain — if 
Captain he is — I fancy I’ve scared him out 
of this neighbourhood for some time to come. 
And as for the credentials, I fancy, at my 
time of life, I should be able to write my 
own commendation. I believe the old boy 
has a sneaking good-will towards me. I 
can’t answer for the girl ; but I can answer 


, THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH 275 

1 

that she’ll hold her tongue for a while at all 
events. This life doesn’t become a man of 
my education and natural ability. And the 
risk is worth running. ’ ’ 

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” says he, 
very drily. 

“ And why not ? ” 

‘‘Well, you see, when I heard the noise 
last night, and all the place grew light as it 
, did, I was just starting to run for dear life, 

I till it struck me that if the folks meant to 
j go searching for me they wouldn’t begin by 
' lighting the picture-gallery from end to end. 

I So I drew close under shadow of the wall 
and waited, ready to run at any moment. 
But after a while, finding that nothing hap- 
pened, I grew curious and crept up after you 
and looked in through the window, very 
cautious. A nice fix you seemed to be in ; 
but old Jenkins was there. And while Jen- 
kins was there 

“Well? ” 

“ Well, I should have thought you might 
have guessed. The bolt of his bedroom 
window wasn’t hard to force, nor the lock 
of the small room. Being single-handed, I 
had to pick and choose what to carry off. 
But if you’ll look under the bracken yonder 


WANDERING HEATH 


2 76 

you’ll own I know my way among silver- 
ware. ’ ' 

I looked at him for a moment, and then 
lay gently back on the turf and laughed till 
I was tired of laughing. 


WANDERING HEATH 


STORIES, STUDIES, AND 
SKETCHES 



BY 



They call my plant the Wandering Heath ; 

It wanders only in the West : 

So flower the purple thoughts beneath 
The sailor's, miner's, mother's breast. 

O hearts of exile ! — still at home. 

And ever turning while ye roam ! 


o 


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 
NEW YORK, 1895 


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